Ice and Leather
by Ventisquear
Summary: Collection of oneshots about Zevran and Airam Surana and their adventures during and after the Blight. Romance, humour, hurt/comfort, sometimes bit of angst... in short, everything that life brings.
1. Cast Your Burden On Me Tonight

From now on, all oneshots related to my main story _**Failed to Fail**_ will be put here. I try to write every oneshot as standalone so you don't need to read FtF, but there _will_ be few things and names that would make more sense if you do.

This one is based on kmeme prompt–Zevran is having nightmares and the Warden helps him to deal with them. Zev and Air are in love here, but they're not lovers yet and it happens shortly before their last trip to Denerim.

Big thanks to **Brelaina** for beta-reading this.

* * *

><p><strong>Cast Your Burden On Me Tonight<strong>

_They are standing in a row, backs straight, chests forward, feet spread shoulder wide, arms behind their backs, each hand clasping the opposite wrist, staring in front of them. The sun is shining directly into his eyes, but he knows better than to move his head. Master Xavier doesn't tolerate impertinence. _

_The sound of feet and something dragged through the dirt reaches his ears. Nobody turns, nobody mutters. A young Crow, dragging a tied man, as if he is just a heavy package. The man is gagged and blindfolded. The Crow drops him to Master Xavier's feet._

_"Untie him." _

_The Crow obeys without a word. The man blinks and quickly glances around, but doesn't dare to move. Master Xavier grabs his hair and pulls him up._

_"This piece of trash," he says, "Was one of us. But he's no longer worthy of that honour. Not only he failed his mission but he cost us lives of good, strong Crows. What punishment does he deserve?"_

"Death!" _They repeat in unison. His voice sounds a bit squeaky; he knows what will follow. He was thirteen yesterday. Master Xavier looks at him._

_"Arainai. You do it."_

_He steps forward, hands on his daggers, ready to attack at any moment, if the Master orders so. Master Xavier smirks – from him, it's the sign of the highest possible appreciation. _

_Then the Master drops the man on the ground again, and kicks him hard. "You know the rules, Moega," he says. "Make it to the exit of the training yard and you're free to go." _

_"But in that case _you_ die, Arainai," he adds, and looks directly into Zevran's eyes. "Start."_

_The man doesn't even have time to get up before Zevran is there, grasping his hair, pulling his head upwards. Their eyes meet. They stare at each other. A prey and its hunter. Both are terrified. Zevran's hands are sweating and the dagger is slightly trembling. A second; an eternity; then he slides his hand across the man's throat. The blood is pouring and pouring, bright red, spoiling his dagger and his hand. He lets the body fall to the ground, and doesn't give him another look. Instead he focuses on his hand and the drops of blood at the tip blade of his dagger, dripping, dripping..._

"_Well done, Arainai." _

_He lifts his eyes, startled. He didn't even notice when Master Xavier came over. When the Master reaches his hand, he half expects a blow for his carelessness, but the Master just playfully strikes his face, tips his chin upwards and gently brushes their lips together. He stiffens and the Master pushes him off, chuckling._

"_Go clean yourself and come to my quarters. We will start with the next part of your training immediately."_

_It's good that his body knows what to do and bows and moves by itself; but the blood is dripping, still dripping... _

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. Why? Why did it keep returning in his dreams? Why couldn't he forget that disgusting bastard?

How many times he wished during that night that he had let the man escape.

_Stop thinking about it. It's nothing but a memory now_. He was not even a Crow any more. Now his task was _to protect the life_ of his little Warden. What would Master Xavier say to that?

He stepped out of the tent and took a deep breath.

"Zev? Something wrong?"

"_Amore_? Wasn't it Sten's turn?" He walked to the fire and sat next to Airam, brushing their lips together.

"You have three guesses."

"Nightmares?"

"_Bravissimo_," the boy smirked, but then became serious again. "Just like you."

"No. I was just hot."

"Hm." Airam didn't press further. "I can cool the air in your tent a bit," he offered.

"No need to waste magic for such mundane purposes," he said, imitating Wynne. He had had enough of Xavier and Muega for tonight.

Airam gave him a knowing look and smiled. "Shall I tell you a story from the Circle, then?"

"A dirty one?"

Airam laughed, and got up to pour them some tea from the kettle. "Flemeth's recipe, Morri finally decided to share it. I'm warning you, it will keep you awake no matter how boring my telling is."

"Then I will have fun just staring luridly at you, _bello mio._"

"If you insist…" Airam sat down again and sipped some tea, leaning on him. "So, there was this lecherous Enchanter, generally known as Bedbug…"

oOo

The nightmares continued. He tried his best to keep it a secret. As a Crow, he was used to getting just a few hours of sleep, so it shouldn't have been a problem. Or so he thought. But when was he able to fool his little Warden? For a few days now, Airam was watching him closely and already gave him several perfect opportunities to talk about it, should he wish. But he stubbornly kept denying the truth.

One time he was on the verge of admitting it, but then he changed his mind. There was nothing that could be done about it, so what was the point? Airam had enough problems without his bad dreams, he told himself. A small voice in his head laughed at him and mocked him for being a coward, but he ignored it, pretending he didn't know what it was talking about. He had never had these nightmares before; this had to be just some short-time weakness, like a cold – it simply had to be suffered till it was over. It shouldn't take much longer.

But it lasted for more than two weeks now. Sometimes he would wake up still feeling sore after a cruel flogging from his _allenatore _if his performance during training was not perfect, or dirty from Master Xavier's touches. And he didn't want to think about that. Not daring to ask Wynne – she'd say it to Airam immediately – he tried to mix up few sleeping potions. But he had to admit that his skills in this area left much to be desired and the potions were too weak.

Last night was no better. If it doesn't stop soon, he would have to go to Airam anyway, whether he liked it or not. He could not endanger the whole group by being clumsy and incautious due to prolonged sleep deprivation. Till the end of the week, he decided, as he packed his tent, desperately trying to sound his usual cheerful self, when the others joked and fooled around. Then he'll go and ask Airam for a sleeping potion.

But life is a bitch and seldom cares for plans, yes? They were attacked by group of darkspawn, a dozen or so, that _shouldn't have_ been a problem. Nothing extra, a bunch of genlocks, few hurlocks and only one emissary. They had killed hundreds of foul creatures by now, what were a few more? Any of them could take on this particular group single-handedly – well, except perhaps for Wynne and the mabari.

And except _him_, it seemed. He _saw_ that hurlock's attack and normally it wouldn't be a problem to block it or to step aside. This time, however, he was too slow. Surprised, he stared at the sword protruding from his belly. So that thing really got him? _How disappointing, I hoped to die with more style,_ he thought, dimly aware he was falling to the ground.

When he opened his eyes again, he was in the tent. Airam was sitting on the chair nearby, looking worried and scared. He tried to give him a flashing, reassuring smile, but he was so weak, so tired, it didn't quite work. Airam looked relieved nonetheless.

"Zev," he whispered, leaning to him, caressing his cheek and gently kissing his lips. "Zevvie, you Makerdamn fool, don't you _dare_ scare me like that again, or I'll kill you."

"_Amore_… I am sorry… I…"

"As you _should_ be, silly assassin. No, shhh, don't talk, you need to rest. I'm going to call Wynne, all right?"

Rest… yes. Yes, that sounded very good.

oOo

Zevran wasn't aware how many days passed; most of the time he was sleeping, with only short periods when he was awake, too weak to even feed himself alone. The sword of that blasted creature was poisoned and in combination with his wound and exhaustion it was almost miracle that he was still alive.

_You said you didn't want to give him more worries_, said that mocking voice in his head again, _and look what you caused now. Problems, complications, delay. All because you're a coward. _

And this time he couldn't pretend it wasn't right.

"_Amore_," he said when Airam came with dinner, "I am sorry I lied."

"About the nightmares?" asked Airam lightly as he spooned some soup into his mouth. "I just can't understand why it was so important to pretend you don't have them. Especially in front of _me_. I did have a nightmare, too, once or twice, you know."

"I was an idiot," he said as he swallowed the soup.

Airam snickered. "Well that's a promising start. Please, go on."

"I am sorry I cause problems for you-"

Airam raised his brow at him. "Trying to change the subject, are you?"

"No, but we are wasting time because of me."

"We're not. _You_ are wasting time, lying here like some elven prince. The rest of us are working hard, you know."

That only made him feel worse, but as he opened his mouth to apologise again, Airam pushed the spoon with soup in his mouth, chuckling softly when he spluttered a bit.

"It's only the fourth day and Wynne says you'll be good as new before the end of this week. So do not worry. Besides, even if it was _forty_ days, you don't really think I'd care, do you? Silly assassin. Back to the subject. How long have you been suffering these nightmares? But the truth now, if you like."

"Some two weeks. I thought it would end soon, but I was going to ask you for help..."

"You _were_? How nice to hear that. Most reassuring, really, to know you were going to tell me before you died."

He wanted to reply, but again a spoon was pushed in his mouth.

"Will you stop using that spoon as a weapon?" He tried to sound angry, but Airam didn't buy it, of course.

"That's not a weapon. _This_ is," he said, holding up the fork. "I was going to give you some meat, but if you insist, I can... find some other uses for it."

He laughed and tried to pull the boy to him, but he was too weak to budge him. "Kiss me," he demanded desperately.

Airam leant forward, brushing their lips together, but then pulled away, ignoring his protests. "No, thanks, Zev. If I want more soup, I can eat it myself."

He groaned. "I hate you."

"Of course you do. And stop distracting me, I'm trying to discuss a serious matter here, you know. Tell me, these nightmares - are they something related to your past, or just some terrible fantasies, with scary demons and such?"

It was useless, he knew - when his little Warden decided to do something, it was not easy to distract him.

"My past. Training. Masters... things like that. But why is it necessary to talk about it?"

"Because me and Wynne think we could help you. Remember when you asked me why demons try to attack only mages in their dreams, and ignore the non-mages like you, who wouldn't be able to defend themselves?"

He chuckled. "How could I forget, when you compared _me_ to Alistair's lamb stew and _yourself_ to Antivan fish chowder?"

"Silly assassin. Should have known you'd only remember the joke."

"No, wait. You said... mages had to, close their mind before they go to sleep, put up a mental barrier, right? And that non-mages are not attractive for demons, because they don't have magic, but that if necessary, they could be also trained to do that – oh. I see. You think the demons finally noticed how awesome I am, yes?"

"Sorry. For demons you're still just a bowl of a lamb stew. Cold and stale." Airam smiled, but then became all business-like and serious again and he knew the time for joking was over.

"So tell me, Zev. Are there mages among the Crows?"

He stared at the boy's face. Sure, there were mages in the Crows, but why would they bother to do something like this? Why not just send someone to kill him? He had been with his little Warden for almost a year now, and yet, there was no one hunting him. Ignacio said, months ago, that he was 'Taliesen's responsibility', but nothing had happened. And this definitely wasn't Taliesen's style.

"There are. But I don't see why would they do this."

"Perhaps they want to weaken you, before they attack. Perhaps they hoped to find out something about your whereabouts, or about the Wardens. I don't give a damn _why_ they're doing this, right now all I care about is stopping it. If you'll let me, that is."

That was odd. Why would he be against it? And why was Airam looking so worried? "Of course I'll let you. Do you even have to ask?"

"I do. Because, if I'm to help you... then you have to let me in."

"In, where?" he asked, though he knew the answer. And he didn't like it at all.

"In your dreams, Zev," said the boy softly. "I can only find the mage doing this from your dreams."

"So why don't _you_ let someone in and help you with your nightmares?" It was a cruel question, he knew. But he didn't like the idea of letting anyone see those things.

"I would gladly do it, if it was possible." Airam's voice was so quiet now he could barely hear it. "My nightmares have been with me for ten years. Ever since... well, you know what. It's not the work of a demon, or a mage. Only my memories. If someone could... but that's not possible. That's why I have to drink so many sleeping potions, so I don't dream at all."

Airam looked at him. "But I know how hard it is. I wouldn't like other people to see... what happened. So I won't force you, if you don't want to. We can try to teach you to close your mind, and in the meantime Wynne will give you some sleeping potions."

Ten years, he realised, for the first time understanding in full what it meant, what it had to be like, to drug oneself with the sleeping potions in order to sleep without any dreams. Even then, it didn't always work and the nightmares would come. And Zevran knew what they were about, Airam told him what happened on that day, when he lost everyone and everything, he _trusted_ Zevran with it, even though he was hardly worthy.

"No," he said. "If anyone can... then it's you. Will you do it tonight?"

Airam smiled. "From one extreme to another. I love that about you. But no, not tonight. It will take some time to prepare the ritual. You'll have to take Wynne's potions for a few more nights, all right?"

"Ritual? What are you going to do with me?"

"Oh I think you'll like it. We will both drink a potion, Wynne will start to prepare it today, and then we'll sleep together."

"So I am going to sleep with you - _and_ with Wynne's blessing? Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"See, told you. Now, I can't spend all day just feeding you. Say 'aaaaaah'..."

"I can't eat that stew. It would be cannibalism, no?"

"You really want me to use that fork on you?"

"Tsk, tsk. Such cruelty towards someone so injured and helpless..."

They could probably go on like this much longer, but then the flaps on the tent opened.

"Kadan. Wynne is looking for you. Urgently. I will take over from here."

"Right. I'm going. And make sure he eats everything, Sten. Be a good boy, Zevvie."

Ignoring his protests, the crazy kid patted his head, kissed his brow and left. He looked at the Qunari, grim and quiet and sighed. Better not to joke around _this_ guy.

oOo

_Zevran tries hard not to tremble in fear. Showing fear or any other weakness will just make things worse, he knows that much already. He stands quietly in the middle of the circle of his fellow apprentices. _

_Which of them betrayed him? Toni? Roberto? Julio? They all stare at him with stone faces, because to show pity is also a weakness. And a Crow cannot be weak. _

_Master Alessandro is now explaining it to the others. Keeping things of a previous life means to be weak, to depend on foolish sentiment. The sooner they learn that the better. Those who will not, will be severely punished. _

_It means he's going to be flogged. It won't be the first time. In the half a year he was with the Crows he was flogged seven times already. Some of the older apprentices said he was too stubborn for his own good and that he would not survive the first year. So what. Better die than to become like Master Alessandro._

_The Master pushes him towards the pole, and he obediently goes and leans on the wooden frame and lifts his hands; one of the older apprentices swiftly ties them. The Master comes, holding a thick cane; as a repeated offender and because this offence was so serious, he is sentenced to receive ten hits._

_One. _

_His body whole body arches in pain. _I won't cry I won't cry I won't cry!

_Two._

_Tears are rolling down his face, but he manages not to cry out. He is not weak. Even though he kept his mother's gloves, he is not weak and he will prove it to them._

_Three._

_"I _will_ break that pride of yours, Arainai. You will beg me to stop and you will never violate the rules again." The Master lifts his hand again – but the fourth hit never comes. _

_"Zev? Zevran!" He hears someone's horrified cry. He doesn't know that voice, but he likes it immediately. It is young and warm and... friendly, as if that person really cared for him. Then again, it could be a trap. Better answer it before the person gets angry. _

_"Yes, Master," he peeps._

_But the man is already next to him, untying his bonds. "Andraste's sweet ass. What kind of sick bastard flogs a little child like that? I'm so sorry, it took me a while till I found you... But I thought you'd be your normal self, from what Wynne said... we'll deal with that later. First, let me heal you..."_

_It doesn't make any sense, but it doesn't matter. The cool flow of healing magic wraps around his body and the pain stops. He hesitantly turns around, not yet sure if he should trust this person. The Masters always say only fools trust other people. Maybe this was just another test, and who knows what they would do to him if he failed again._

_But then two hands – two very white hands – lift his head. "Come on, look at me. Are you that embarrassed that I saw this memory?"_

_Zevran looks up at the man. He is definitely the strangest looking man he ever saw. An elf, and not very old – like some of the older apprentices, but not as old as the Masters. And he has dark violet hair. And purple eyes. And white skin. He is whiter than Master Alessandro's shirt. _

_Speaking of which – he quickly turns his head to where Master Alessandro was standing. His eyes widen in horror. Master Alessandro is turned into statue, white and cold to touch._

_The man laughs cheerfully. "I'd say it's a great improvement, don't you think? He looks almost lovely like this."_

_So this man must be a mage. What does that mean? What does he want from Zevran? Maybe he is_ _one of the Masters, if he could freeze Master Alessandro like that. _

_"What's wrong? You're shaking." The man sounds sincerely worried._

_"I am sorry, Master," he peeps, humbly bowing his head. He didn't want to become a lovely statue._

_"Master? What? Zev – Zev, look at me... you... don't know who I am?"_

_He gulps. Maybe he should lie and say he knows him? But he doesn't even know his name. "I am sorry, Master. I have never seen you before."_

_The man run his hand through his hair. "Never, huh. Great. You're not awake yet. Just great. Why should something be easy, when it can be complicated? Maker, what could have gone wrong?"_

_"I'm sorry, Master, I didn't mean to do it," he tries to apologise, and would kneel down, if the man didn't stop him and hug him tightly._

_"Don't be ridiculous, Zevvie... Uh... you... don't mind me calling you that?"_

_He shakes his head and the man smiles again. _

"_Good. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie. I am your – eh, friend. Airam Surana. Pleasure to meet you." _

"_Yes, Master," he says, still unsure what this strange man wants._

"_I'm not one of those bastards. Don't call me that. Call me just Air."_

"_As you wish, Mas- Air."_

_The man... Air, just sighs again and rubs his brow. "This is going to be difficult. The easiest thing would be to leave it and try again tomorrow, but I can't stand the idea of you going through that again. Perhaps we can still find the mage causing this."_

_He doesn't understand one word and it all sounds very scary, but he tries his best not to show it. But then Air smiles again. "Will you take me for a round? And looking at you, I suggest starting in the canteen."_

"_B-but, the Masters will not like it..." he says, but regrets it immediately and shrinks back, half expecting a blow for being flippant._

_Air notices and his eyes become sad. "You don't have to be afraid of **me**, Zevvie," he says softly. "Or anyone else, now that I found you. I won't let anyone hurt you. If they are mean to you, they will end up the same as this guy, right?" Air reaches his hand. Zevran hesitates for a moment and then he holds it, nodding._

_The servants in the canteen tell them to go away, that it's not time for lunch. Air refuses, so they call the guards. Air puts him up on one of the tables, casts some spell on him and tells him not to move and enjoy the show. _

_And then the chaos starts like he's never seen before._

_It suddenly becomes very cold and the floor is covered by the same white thing as Master Alessandro. The guards keep staggering and falling and he can't help laughing. Air looks very pleased with himself and keeps taunting the Crows, mocking their clumsiness and casting all kind of spells, sparkling and funny. And the angrier they get, the clumsier they are. _

_It is over soon and he is almost disappointed. Air winks at him. "I think we work well together. A real Dream Team," he laughs. "Hey, that's not bad. Even Poet Tree couldn't come up with a better one."_

_He just stares and Air sighs. "Never mind. Now, let's see if we can finally get some food... or do I have to continue demolishing the barracks now?" _

_One of the men on the floor quickly gets up. He knows the man by sight, it's one of the Masters training the older apprentices, Xavier. The Master is calm and polite. "No need for further violence. Do you have any special wish?"_

"_Fish chowder, please, if possible. And please, be _very_ careful with seasoning. I learned to be quite fussy about that, you know." _

_The Master clenches his jaw and shoots a dirty look at him. "I understand." He commands to other men that are now getting up, as well and they all quickly run to do as he says._

_It doesn't take long and they are served: Air gets a bowl of steaming fish chowder, he gets a bowl of porridge, cold and gray. He doesn't mind, it is still food and it seems ages since he ate properly but Air snaps it from him before he could start eating. After a brief suspicious sniff he simply throws the bowl across the canteen. The Master pales in helpless fury. _

"_I wouldn't feed this to a dog. And what is with this tiny bowl? Tell you what. You eat this, right here, in front of me, just to see if the seasoning is right, and your men will bring us a full tureen." _

_The Master clenches his jaw but sits down and starts eating. Everyone is now looking at them and Zevran squirms on the chair. "B-but, Mas-Air, I am just an apprentice. I can have the porridge." _

"_As if. – So where is that chowder?" Air raises his hand, sparkles dancing around his fingers and the Master almost chokes on the piece of fish and quickly barks more orders at his men._

_A moment later they are served properly. He had never ate something that good before, and so much. Air doesn't eat much, it seems he is much more interested in watching him eating his fill. "Is it good? You don't have to hurry like that. Nobody is going to take it away from you, you know. Slow down, or you'll get sick."_

_Zevran obediently slows down. He still doesn't understand what is going on, but doesn't care about it much. Air is quite crazy, but in a nice way, he decides, not like the Maters. _

_After he ate his three days share, Air wants to see his room, so next they go to the sleeping hall. The Master joins them, still calm and polite, says he will be their tour guide. On the way he can see him giving signs to other people and he is scared but Air winks at him and smiles. _

_The sleeping hall is big and dark, smelling of sweat and stale dirt; it was not cleaned unless some unfortunate apprentice was ordered to do it as a punishment. There are no real beds, just cots made of straw and a few old blankets. There are always less blankets than cots. It doesn't matter when it's warm like now, but when he first arrived, the nights were cold and the apprentices were often fighting for one of them._

"_This is… which one is yours?"_

"_Mine?" He looks up at Air, surprised. "None of them is mine. There is nothing people can claim as theirs, only what they win in a fight. That is why we must train hard, because only those that are strong can win and survive. "_

_The Master smirks. "Good boy. Full mark." _

_It makes Air angry. " Making little kids fight over _beds_... You're just sick." _

"_No point investing coin in them until there can be some use of them. And if they are to be useful, they need to be strong, hard like steel. We're not a charity. We're the Crows." _

"_Oh, I just hope you and that idiot who flogged him are still alive when I come to Antiva."_

But we are in Antiva_, Zevran wants to say. He can see that the Master is just as confused as he is, but Air doesn't explain._

_When they get outside, the Crows are waiting for them, senior apprentices and the full Crows and Masters, all of them. Master Xavier smirks again and walks over to them. Zevran's heart is thumping madly. Air is awesome but there are so many! There's no way they he can defeat them, they are both going to die here – _

_Air ruffles his hair again. "No need to be afraid, Zevvie. A few subconscious projections can't hurt me. I'd never be able to look at Erwin without shame if they did. So don't worry."_

"_What are subcopious projects?"_

_But the answer doesn't come, as Air becomes preoccupied by the Crows trying to attack. Suddenly big clouds hide the sun and then a lot of that white stuff starts falling and the Crows can't move, they slip and fall or they become all covered by it and stiff like those guys in the canteen. Some of it falls on his hand and he cries in horror, expecting to become all stiff, too. Air quickly turns to him, alarmed. _

"_Maker's breath, don't scare me like that, crazy kid..." He laughs. "Ah, you have no idea how long I've wanted to say _that_... Don't worry, it won't freeze _you_. Why don't you build a snowman while I get rid of these fools?"_

_Watching the fight soon becomes boring, and Zevran's not afraid of the white thing any more. He takes some into his hands and it's cold and wet and it can be pressed and squeezed into different shapes. It's fun, he decides, and for a while forgets all about the fight, trying to shape it into different things, but all he really manages are few balls. His fingers are numb with cold, but he determinedly continues to work – _

– _and then the air tingles, something strange is going on, he wants to cry out but he can't, and his whole body shivers – _

Where was he? And why he was so cold and wet? He stared at the snow balls at his feet. What the – wait. He remembered now. The crazy kid wanted to enter his dream to stop the nightmares... that's right, and he was just a brat and Air had to fight all those Crows alone.

He quickly turned around. The Crows were gone, as are the barracks and buildings. There is only plain filed, covered in a thick layer of snow. And in the middle of it, Air and another mage.

"Give it up," said the other mage. "Your ice spells won't work on me, as you can see."

"We shall see. I haven't really started cooling down yet."

Airam didn't sound worried, so he calmed down, too. A quick check confirmed that he had all the equipment with which he went to sleep, just as Wynne promised. Excellent. And it seemed they hadn't noticed him yet. He quickly wrapped himself in shadows and pulled out his daggers.

"You really think a young fool like you can defeat a Crow?" The man was trying hard to sound arrogant and confident, but the fact he was not attacking showed his uncertainty better than anything else.

Airam shrugged. "I already have. Can _you_ say the same about the Wardens?"

He was almost behind the mage now. The man was real fool, bragging about being a Crow, when he couldn't see what was going on right below his nose.

"That is enough from you! I will end this now! It will be a nice extra touch to my mission if I can make the Warden Tranquil during it."

"And what do you mean by that?" He whispers into the man's ear, with the blade of a dagger just below his chin. The poor fool was so surprised he almost dropped his staff.

"The mages who are killed in the Fade become Tranquils," said Airam. "What I want to know is who sent him and why."

"I-it was Master Xavier," answered the man quickly. "He didn't tell me why. I'm just following his orders. Please, do not kill me."

Airam laughed. "Well now. Doesn't this seem a bit familiar?"

"You wound me so. I am much more attractive," Zevran quipped. "So, if he's a tranquil, can he still deliver a message?"

"I can't see why not."

"Then take this message to Xavier. Tell him I don't know why he did this, but I'm really glad that he reminded me of his existence. I will definitely stop to say hello when I'm in Antiva."

The man wanted to say something else, to beg, probably, but he didn't care to hear it. This fool wanted to make his little Warden into a Tranquil, and if he could, he definitely wouldn't change his mind. One quick motion of his hand, and the man is falling, blood spilling -

and the next moment shattered and collapsed into nothingness.

oOo

Zevran opened his eyes. They were back in the Airam's tent, lying next to each other, hands bound together. Wynne was sitting next to them, but she had fallen asleep.

"You didn't tell me about the Tranquil part," he whispered accusingly when Airam opened his eyes.

"I know. And you can give me a proper scolding about it. And you must also tell me who that Xavier is. But not now, all right? In the morning. Right now, let's just sleep."

"How could I resist when you offer it like that?"

Airam rolled his eyes and kissed him on a brow. "Good night, Zev. Have a nice dreams."

Kissing him back, he was sure his next dream was going to be very nice.

And he wasn't disappointed.


	2. Where Your Treasure Is

For Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age challenge 'A New Home' – the character finds a new home, what does this home mean to them? Is it a fresh start? Is it simply four walls and a roof to them, a place to rest at night?

Thanks to **Brelaina** for beta-reading this. 'Liam the Gardener' is in fact Liam from her amazing story _**Steps to Freedom**_. He privately sent an invitation to Zev and Air promising a discount at the _Rose_, but Zev, still disappointed by the '_Wonders of Thedas'_ assumed it's probably the gardening shop. :D

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><p><strong>Where Your Treasure Is<strong>

This island was rumoured to have the most beautiful sunset in the world; he had to admit it wasn't exaggerated much. He took a sip of wine, best Antivan Dolcetto – he silently congratulated himself on the idea of taking it with them. Sitting on the beach, with a very naked Air leaning against him, watching the sea that looked as if it was set on fire, listening to the soft noise of the waves, and drinking the best wine – life was perfect. If only this moment could last forever.

"I will have to go back, you know."

He smiled. He had expected this line for quite a few days now, and his _amore_ sounded just as worried as he expected. Not that he could blame him. After all, he suddenly disappeared, and even though it technically wasn't his fault, Airam couldn't know that and had suffered several difficult months of doubts and fear. Lesson learnt – should he ever be forced to spend more than two weeks away from his crazy mage, he would write him letters _at least_ once a week.

"Of course, _amore_. We can go whenever you're ready."

"I mean back to Ferelden."

"I know. And as I said, we can go whenever you wish. Even tomorrow morning."

Airam sat a bit further forward and turned to face him. "Are you sure you want this, Zev?" He asked softly.

"Do you even have to ask?"

"Here, you are someone. You have a name, power, you're famous. In Ferelden, you will be forever known as the lover of the Warden Commander."

"Good. As long as it is true, yes?" He purred right into Airam's ear, knowing very well what effect it would have.

Airam's breath hitched "...Silly assassin... "

They didn't talk much after that, but it was clear they were not leaving for Ferelden in the _next_ _morning_.

oOo

The next day Airam sent a letter to Amaranthine, smiling like a cat that just ate a full bowl of cream and refusing to tell him what was in it. _It's a surprise_ was all he would say. Leaving packing to the servants – it was good to be rich and powerful – they spent a whole day searching for gifts for their friends, which included a set of figurines made of the finest Nevarrian porcelain showing different sex positions for Alistair, a book _Stress Management: Importance And Benefits of Laughter_ by a famous Orlesian healer for Wynne, and a crate of alcohol-free beer, a newest invention by some Chantry brother in the Anderfels for Oghren.

"Do you think they'll ever forgive us?"

"Oh, Alistair and Oghren will. Wynne, I am not so sure."

When they were not shopping, they spent those last few days swimming, or visiting their favourite places, eating their favourite food – or closed in their bedroom. There was simply no time to feel sentimental. Which, he suspected, was exactly what Airam wanted.

It was only when they boarded the ship, and he watched the shores of Antiva slowly disappear in the distance, that he realized he was probably leaving forever. It was a strange feeling: as if a part of him remained there, a little Crow apprentice left to roam its night streets alone.

Airam wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "This is not the last time you see your home, Zev. I promise," he said softly.

He turned away from the sea and hugged him. "It does not matter. I made my choice and I do not regret it. I never will."

oOo

Amaranthine was a dreary place and Vigil's Keep was a cold and even drearier place. Airam marched right to their living quarters, closely followed by the Senechal, nervously apologizing in advance.

"I hope you will like it, there was very little time, but we had a group Orlesian decorators working on it..."

"_Maker's breath_."

The rooms were furnished and decorated in an Antivan manner. Even his own villa in Antiva wasn't that much Antivan. He laughed and pulled Airam in for a kiss, much to the Senechal's dismay, as he noticed, amused.

"You really are unbeatable in surprises."

"It was furnished by the previous owner a few decades ago. If I am to spend the rest of my life here, I can at least make it comfortable." Airam tried hard to look impassive, but his eyes belied him.

"And I had the garden redecorated, too..." said the Senechal quickly as they kissed again. "We found a very capable gardener, Liam of Kirkwall, used to work in the biggest gardening store there, the Blooming Rose... he did real magic on the garden, so to say. If you would like to go and see –"

"Perhaps later, yes? Now I would wish to examine these rooms in more detail... like that big bed over there. I am sure it will take us at least two hours. What do you say, _amore_?"

The Senechal gave him an indignant look. "Commander, surely –"

"Mmm, I don't know. It _is_ rather big, isn't it? Better not underestimate it... Varel, please tell everyone not to disturb us before dinner, all right?"

The Senechal fled.

oOo

He watched Airam, sleeping at his side. Crazy kid, going to such lengths just to make him happy. Typical. But unnecessary. It didn't matter where they would go. It didn't matter if they lived in a palace or in a tent, here in Ferelden, or in the middle of the harsh Anderfels steppes.

As long as he was with Airam, he was home.


	3. Charms of the Blight

Based on kmeme prompt: M!Surana hates camping. The moment I saw it I knew it was about my crazy kid. :) Do you think Morrigan will ever forgive me? :D

Thanks to awesome Brelaina for beta-reading this.

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><p><strong>Charms of the Blight<strong>

"I'm not going anywhere." Airam glared at Wynne, arms crossed.

"Be reasonable, Warden, we can still make a few more miles today."

"Feel free to go, then. I'm staying here."

"We can't leave without you, as you know very will. You are our leader and should behave -"

"Like a leader," the boy completed. "And I'm saying we're not going anywhere today. Haven't you seen what's going on outside?"

"It's just rain, Warden."

"It's a fucking _hailstorm_," he snapped. "We're staying here tonight."

Wynne winced at the curse and finally realized it was useless to continue the argument. She walked away, making it clear she was displeased and angry. Airam sat down and waved to the maiden to bring him another dark beer.

Zevran watched the whole exchange equally amused and worried. It was always fun to watch Wynne put in her place, but he had never heard Airam cursing before. His comments could be angry, cheeky, foolish or utterly impossible, but never plain _vulgar_. When Wynne left, he stepped out from the shadows - he originally hid because he thought the old bat wanted to discuss his and Air's relationship again - and went to sit down next to the boy.

"Something wrong, _bello mio_?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh no, everything is just perfect," came the irritated reply. "There's a Blight going on, but don't trouble yourself with such a petty thing."

"The Blight has been going on for over ten months now, no? And yet you were not in this adorable mood before. Come on, tell me what's wrong. Perhaps I can help you somehow?"

"No you can't." Airam sighed. "I – I know I'm unreasonable and childish, but I'm so fed up of this all! During the last ten months, let's see... first the darkspawn turned me into a pincushion, then I was saved by a legendary ancient witch. Ever since then my life is walk, walk, walk – oh look, there's a monster, let's kill it! – walk, walk, walk - hello Warden, sure we'll help you but please kill these bad guys first – walk, walk, walk... – hey, why don't we do it all again?"

Zevran laughed. "But I thought you liked it, that seeing new places and meeting new people was fun?"

"It _is_! But waking up during the night with the feeling of a bug crawling across your nose is not, you know. In the spring, the roads are one long puddle full of mud. Why don't _you_ see how nice it is to slosh through mud _in a dress_?"

"But you have new robes with your trousers now," he pointed out, but Airam ignored it.

"And in the summer, I almost got roasted alive, because of how freaking white I am -"

"You're _not_ freaking, you're beautiful," he interrupted again.

"You really should let Wynne check your eyes," snapped the boy irritably. "Then I have to spend a whole month underground, in the Deep Roads that look and smell like the insides of an ass..."

He almost choked on his beer, but decided not to say the comment that just came to his mind.

"And now we're finally out of that hell, it's two weeks of heavy rains and hailstorms, and it will only get worse. I'm so _tired_, Zev. I feel so... burned out. All I want is to get to some nice, comfortable, _clean_ place." Airam gave deadly glare to the innkeeper, who was openly listening to their conversation, but now he suddenly remembered he had work elsewhere.

"And to just stay there. Let the Blight and Ferelden and all these pathetic fools who always wait till I solve their problems be damned."

There was a moment of heavy silence after that. Zevran couldn't disagree – in truth, it was his own wish as well, but as long as the Archdemon was fluttering around, it was not possible. As a Crow, he was trained to focus on a goal and to endure any discomfort as long as necessary. But his little Warden was not a Crow, just a kid forced into a role that would be difficult even for the much more experienced.

"I can't stop the Blight for you," he said, "But what would you say to a massage? And before you try to break my nose again, I really mean just a normal massage this time. It will help to remove a bit of the tension, yes?"

"I didn't punch you _that_ hard," mumbled Airam, squirming uncomfortably on the bench. He smiled. The last time he offered Airam an 'Antivan massage', the crazy kid punched his nose, for 'putting himself down' and 'offering himself as a whore'. The punch didn't really break his nose, but it hurt. His pride most of all.

"So what do you say, hmm? First, I'll give you some herbs for your bath -" he rummaged through his leather sack with the herbs he always kept with him, "And then I will give you a massage fit for a king. What say you, hm?"

"Only a massage? You promise?"

"I swear."

Airam sniffed the herbs. "...This smells almost like Leliana."

"That's correct. It's often used for shampoos and soaps in Orlais."

"All right, then. I'll... come to your room. Probably."

Half an hour later, Airam was lying on his bed, only in the smalls, and he knew this was going to be real hell for him. But he would not betray Airam's trust, not when he knew about the boy's terrible past experiences. He was a Crow, he would survive it. Somehow. Barely.

Hearing Airam's moans and groans didn't help. At. All.

"Mnnn, Zeeev... this is soo gooood... Why have you never did this before? Ouuuch... no, it's not too hard, mmm no, harder, please... ah, yes, just like that... from now on, you have to do this regularly..."

It was driving him crazy and he half suspected Airam knew only too well what he was doing. How he managed to remain sane during that one hour, he wasn't sure. And this was now to happen regularly. He could not back away from it now. _Ah, Zevran, what did you get yourself into now?_

"Well, what do you say? Was it good? Feeling any better?"

"It was... one of the best things on this blasted journey. And I feel _much_ better. Thanks, Zev. You're a real life-saver. Though I still wish we could stay here a few days longer. At least until I get rid of the blisters on my feet."

Just one look of those big purple eyes made it all worth it – now and any time in the future.

"Perhaps you could ask Morrigan to teach you shape-shifting, no? Then you wouldn't have to walk, you could fly, instead."

It was meant as a joke, but Airam took it seriously. "You know, that's not a bad idea... I bet I could learn at least some smaller shapes quite easily... Oh, I'm going to ask her, _right now_."

Airam almost skipped out of the room.

A few moments later, he heard some shouting; he could recognise Leliana's voice. Grabbing his daggers he quickly ran out. He found the bard in front of the Morrigan's room – arguing with Airam.

"You can't leave her there like that!" She yelled.

"Sure I can," snapped Airam, and he immediately saw that the boy's mood is even worse than before. What could have happened?

"What is wrong? Where is Morrigan?" Zevran asked, confused.

"Melting down."

"_Melting down_? What have you done this time, crazy kid?"

Airam snorted. "I went and explained everything to her."

"And?"

"She agreed, but she said we have to start with something simple, a basic form."

"Well that's good, no?"

"She suggested a spider."

"Ah, I see. Eight legs, right?"

"Precisely."

"She really brought it on herself, then, yes?" he asked, grinning, much to Leliana's dismay. "So what now? Do you want another massage?"

"What I want now is to _kill_ something."

"Well then, you only have to wait for a few more hours. I'm sure some dimwits will decide to attack us the moment we're out of the village. See, there is bright side to everything."

"Yes, yes. I'm going to die of happiness. Good night, Zev. Good night, Leli, and don't panic. Morri will unfreeze in a few minutes." Airam turned and walked away, followed by Leliana, who was still scolding him. He watched them for a while, then entered the Morrigan's room.

"You look really _statuesque_ tonight, my friend," he said with a wide grin.

Tomorrow was going to be great fun, that much was sure. Oh well – at least the crazy kid would not have time to complain about sore feet...


	4. Strange Thing Mystifying

Based on kmeme prompt -OP asked for an established relationship where Zevran decides he doesn't want to sleep with his partner any more, and not only because of all the 'Crows-and-feelings' stuff, but also because he feels uncomfortable mixing sex and feelings together because of past abuse in the brothel... Takes place some time between their first failed attempt and first successful attempt. :)

Thanks to lovely **Brelaina** for beta reading this!

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><p><strong>Strange Thing Mystifying<strong>

"You... don't want... I, I see. I know I wasn't - I... well. Well, I, ah, won't - bother you... sorry."

Airam's voice was barely audible, but the hurt and disappointment were only too clear. He had to do something, explain it somehow. He must not let him leave like this, thinking it was his fault. But what should he say? How to explain something he himself didn't really understand?

"_Amore_, wait. It is not-"

"You don't have to apologize, Zev. I understand. I knew this was inevitable, I'm no good-"

Zevran closed the distance between them and hugged him tightly. He could feel Airam trembling, his heart beating wildly, and hated himself more than ever for doing this to him.

"No. It is the opposite, in fact. You are _too good_. And pure. If you stay with me, I will only soil you, the monster as I am..."

Airam looked at him, confused. "Me, pure? Ridiculous. And you're the last person I'd call a monster. So what are you talking about?"

He chuckled softly in Airam's hair. He almost forgot how impossible this boy was. "I love you."

"Interesting way to show it, you know." Airam relaxed a little bit, burrowing his head in the crook of Zevran's neck.

"I thought the correct reply was 'I love you too', no?"

"Zevvie. Tell me what's wrong. _Please._ Is it something I've said or done? I'm sorry! Tell me what it is and I swear I will -"

"I already told you... It's not you, it's me. Let me try to explain." He steered them to the armchair and sat down, with Airam in his lap.

"So why are you suddenly a monster?" asked Airam, when the silence lasted bit too long.

"Not suddenly. I always was a monster. You're the only one who refuses to see it. I am a murderer and a whore, Air. Those don't sound as fancy as 'the Crow', but they are true. This is what I was ever since I can remember myself. The Crow started to train the apprentices in the 'art of pleasure', as they called it, when they were twelve or thirteen. They didn't want to destroy us, but to teach us to enjoy it. To _enjoy_ being taken by anyone who wanted us, Masters, clients, or even fellow Crows, as a reward for successful mission, if they fancied young meat."

Airam didn't say anything, just hugged him more tightly.

"And in a whorehouse, they don't care if the whores enjoy it or not. Those who lived under their roof and ate their food had to work their keep and bring some extra profit. The age mattered little. I knew at least five different words for 'cock' before I could pronounce my own name properly, and I knew how to suck it before I could lace my shoes. Still, at least I could _hate_ it. The Crows took even that away."

"That makes _them _monsters. Not you." Airam kissed away the tears he wasn't aware he had spilt.

"But I enjoyed it, Air. I was taken by people I hated, and I liked it. Or the people I knew I would kill the moment they fell asleep in my arms. I told myself I was doing it to give them pleasure, during their last hours, but I enjoyed it. The sex, but also the power I had over them. I had their life in my hands, I could make them scream in terror and pain, or in pleasure. I used sex as a weapon, to destroy people, or to manipulate them. Pleasure was a bonus – for _me_, not them."

Every time I had sex with someone, it was for my pleasure or profit; they ended either dead, or devastated, manipulated and used. How can I ever... what if I do it again, to you... if we continue, I will, even if I don't want to, because that's what I am. And I can't let that happen. I care about you like I never cared for anyone. You... embody everything that the Crows say is weakness - you are trusting, friendly, caring, selfless - and yet, you are not weak. In fact, I think you're the strongest man I've ever met. And purest. That is why, I cannot..."

He stopped when he felt Airam trembling, but the boy wasn't crying, as he thought - he was laughing.

"We're both the same fools, Zev. You and I, we were destined to be together, it seems."

Airam shifted, turning so he could see Zevran's face, and kissed him - just a quick, chaste kiss, barely brushing their lips together.

"Now listen carefully, my silly assassin. You say I'm pure? I don't know anything about it. If the Templar hadn't taken me to the Tower, if they had sold me to the Crows instead, I bet I would have been ten times worse than you. Pure! Remember what I told you about Taranis?"

"The guy in the Tower who made the bet to seduce you?"

"Yes. I sold myself for few cheap compliments. I knew it wasn't true, but I wanted to believe it. If he hadn't bragged about it so openly to his friends, I would probably have let him... do those other things."

"That's different."

"It is, I agree. _My_ life was not in danger if I refused. Nobody forced me, besides my own weak mind. No, don't interrupt me. You say I'm strong. Maker, you really are the silliest of all assassins.

I'm only strong because _you_ were always there to support me. The only one. All the others had their own ideas what the Warden should be like – nobler, more pragmatic, more direct, more I don't know what. You were the only one who accepted me for what I was, and tried to help me, without trying to change me. Without you, I would have fallen to pieces long ago.

Did you know, one of my nightmares, ever since you kissed me for the first time, till very recently, was you telling me you don't really care for me? That I was just a pathetic kid, that you deserved better and then you walked away? I'd run after you and beg, but you just laughed and left anyway. And I was left alone in the growing darkness, until I started to scream until I woke up."

Zevran's eyes widened in surprise and he hugged him more tightly. "Air, I'm so sorry –"

Airam laughed again. "What for? It wasn't your fault. But see, even now, you're protecting me, even from my own weakness. And you call yourself a monster?"

It sounded so nice, it would be easy to believe those kind words, but… he shook his head. The risk he would hurt Airam like he hurt – the risk was still too high. And that was the only thing that mattered. He would not allow it, no matter what the price. If something happened to Airam… he shivered a little, remembering those three days after the battle at Denerim, when he thought he had lost him. He would rather throw himself on a sword than go through that again.

"Do you remember the first night you joined us?"

Of course he did. It wasn't likely he would ever forget that. But to remember the time when he was willing to kill Airam was not his favourite pastime. He nodded, unwillingly.

"There you were, the monster Crow, sneaking in the tent of a royally stupid Warden who spared your life and was now sleeping peacefully, helpless and vulnerable –"

"You were none of that."

"But you didn't know that, right? I played my part quite well, I'd say. Though I was terribly nervous and I almost cast an ice spell the moment you knelt down. And when you reached out, I thought I would jump out of my skin. But do you remember what you did after that, oh greatest of all monsters? You patted my hair as if I was some two-year-old and then wanted to walk away. Quite disappointing, you know."

"What did you expect, a kiss?" It was easy to joke about it now, but back then… Airam was much closer to death than he knew, much closer than Zevran was ever willing to admit.

"Is that what the assassins normally do when they come to kill their mark, then? Well… that _is_ a monstrosity, I agree. And ever since then, you were the voice of mercy every time it seemed the scary mage elf went too crazy… _please Warden, don't kill the little girl! Don't exterminate the elves! Please show mercy to mages! Jowan deserves a second_ –"

"Ah, you cruel man, now my pride is crushed completely. I do not have such a squeaky voice."

Airam smirked. "If you say so. But anyway, it is true. You were the voice of sanity, when the darkness threatened to consume me, you were there with your jokes and comments, rays of light in the darkness. Without you, I _would_ become the fearsome maleficar. You saved me, and many many others. So don't you _dare_ call yourself a monster again."

"Hmmm yes, you are right. It seems I am holier than Divine herself. How could I not notice before? I'm a living perfection, yes? Without any flaws. No wonder you love me."

"Oh I don't know. I could name a few flaws, if you wished. Like… wallowing in self-pity."

"I assure you, _amore mio_, that I have never been wallowing in anything, let alone in self pity."

"Basking, then," quipped Airam.

"That's better, yes." Zevran wanted to kiss him, but the crazy kid got up, chuckling at the sight of his frustrated expression.

"What are you doing? Where are you going? Come back here, you crazy kid!"

"No no. You said you wanted to be alone, I shall not bother you any longer. Basking in self pity is demanding – "

_Brasca_, this crazy kid was driving him insane sometimes. Getting up as well, he wrapped his hands around Airam's waist, pressing him to his body as close as possible, and kissed him passionately.

"Zev… are you sure? You don't have to…" said Airam softly, when they finally broke the kiss.

Chuckling, Zevran scooped him in his arms, and carried him to the bed. "I have never been surer. Didn't you know? After a long, nice _basking_, us big wild cats need to ravish some tender meat…"

"Then do your worst, silly monster assassin."

For a brief moment, he just stood above him, enjoying the view. Airam's eyes were already sparkling with desire, no trace of doubts or worries. Always trusting, always giving himself completely.

"Just don't forget _you_ said that, _amore_," he purred, leaning to kiss him again.

He still wasn't sure if he deserved this trust. But he knew he would rather die a most painful death than fail it. Because in it was everything. Hope. Life.

Love.

* * *

><p><em>PS: The new chapter of Failed to Fail was supposed to be up today or tomorrow, but my notebook decided it was too tired of life and died quietly yesterday evening, taking my stories with it. I have older versions in my mail, but it will still take some time to recreate them. So please have patience with me.<em>

_Thank you for all the support, reviews and faves!_


	5. True Desire

This is a combination of two things. First my lovely reviewer **ARoseByAnyOtherStory** got a little reward for being my 100th reviewer of Failed to Fail. She asked for a story about Zev and Air's first kiss.

And then there was a prompt at Zev's thread on BSN: **You****'****re****Beautiful****For****Me**: Describe a scene wherein Zevran recites a poem or song about your character. Should include a (short, around 8-12 lines as an indication) poem/song text.

This two things clicked together like two pieces of a puzzle and I immediately knew it is the same scene. :)

Poem is by me, and it's first time I wrote a poem directly in English, so be gentle. :D

And thanks to my dearest beta **Brelaina** for beta reading this.

* * *

><p><strong>True Desire<strong>

The young man was really a marvel to look at, and had he met him a year ago, he definitely wouldn't miss the opportunity to bed him. Now, however, he wasn't interested. He observed the man's good looks, his charming smile, his small flirtations, but it didn't do anything to him. If the lad wasn't the son of the only smith in this Maker-forgotten hole of a village and if he didn't hope to get a nice discount for fixing his armour, he wouldn't endure it for more than five minutes.

Looking back, it really wasn't worth it.

"Leliana! Have you seen Air?"

"Yes, he went to the lake - wait! He said he wanted to be alone! Zevran! What's going on?"

The lake! Of course, why didn't he think of it before? Airam loved lakes and rivers, and water in any shape or form, especially in the moments when he was unhappy or needed to be alone. Like now. He started running, ignoring Leliana's questions. No time for that now. When he saw Airam standing there with a blank expression on his face - when he realized the boy heard and saw his stupid jokes and flirting with the smith's son, he almost had a heart attack.

Airam was on the shore, throwing pebbles into the lake, as if his life depended on it. Zevran came closer, standing to the right of him, but the boy didn't acknowledge his presence in any way. For a while he just watched him, unsure what to say or do. He liked Airam and he was sure Airam liked him – this fit of jealousy proved it well enough, but they were not together, not yet. And it was time to fix that.

"What do you want, Zevran?"

"Me? I am just admiring your technique. You must show me how you do it, that last pebble skipped through half of the lake."

"Shouldn't you be with your new boyfriend? I'm sure he'll miss you." Airam threw another pebble, still avoiding looking at him.

"He's not my boyfriend. I… care about _you_, Air. I want to be with _you_."

"Why?"

Why? What kind of question was that? That wasn't the answer he wanted. He hoped for one more in the lines of 'That's what I want too, Zev'. "Because I like you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"You're handsome, and strong, and always so calm and witty and so bloody sexy. You can have anyone you want, a handsome guy like that smith's son. Why would you want someone as ugly and clumsy and immature as me?"

"I like you because you're the most beautiful and adorable person I've ever met."

Airam rolled his eyes. "You don't have to… woo me like that, you know. I can't like you more than I do already, anyway." He blushed and turned away, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Grinning, Zevran turned him back and pulled him into tight hug, breathing in the faint scent of his hair and skin and listening to his heart, beating wildly. "I'm not trying to woo you. It's true. If we were in Antiva, they would write odes about you."

"Yeah right, I can imagine that," snorted Airam, but he didn't try to pull away. "Something like: His hair is like a sparrow's nest, only it is violet, his skin is white, his ears are small and he is often violent."

"I see you didn't lie when you said you were bad at poetry," Zevran said when he finally stopped laughing.

"Look who's talking. How was it going? The symphony I see in Thee, whispers sweet songs to me…"

"Ah, but that was not really written by me, you realize. Now, if you stay silent for a while, I will make you one, but not rhymed, all right? Hm…

If I sailed through a thousand seas

I still wouldn't find one

Deeper than your eyes.

If I climbed up a thousands mountains

I still wouldn't find snow

Purer than your heart."

"I thought you'd say 'whiter than your skin'. I would have to kill you if you did."

"I told you to stay silent, crazy kid. Now, where was I… ah, yes.

If I drank a thousand nectars

I still wouldn't taste one

Sweeter than your smile.

If I lived a thousand years

You would still remain

My only desire."

There was a moment of silence, and when Airam finally spoke, it was barely audible. "Is it true? Zevran. Is it _true_?"

"Yes," he said.

That kiss was the most natural thing in his life, slow and gentle and breathtaking.

"That was different than I thought," said Airam surprised, when they broke it. "Much better," he specified. "Can you do it again?"

He obliged, again, and again. And again. Who would be able to resist?


	6. Because of One Man

_Bonus if you recognize the song that inspired me. Double bonus if you recognize the model for the Great Library d'Antiva. :o)_

_Thanks to all Cheeky Monkeys that helped me with the ideas for crazy assassinations! _

_And a huge thanks to **Brelaina**, for beta reading this. _

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><p><strong>Because Of One Man<strong>

The Masters were desperate. It was less than two months since the Hero of Ferelden, the Demon Slayer, Blight Queller and the Commander of the Grey-all of whom was one infuriating and totally crazy elf mageling-arrived in Antiva. And the delicate system they had been building for centuries was already in ruins.

The elf had to be stopped. The stake was frighteningly high. The fool's ideas of social justice, no slavery, and a decrease of criminality rate were not only naive, but, because of his wide popularity among dumb masses, really dangerous.

The country's economical, social and political system would be completely ruined. It would ruin the Crows and that would mean Antiva would lose their only advantage against their neighbours with greater military power - import and export would drop to zero, political relationships would be frozen.

It would bring blood and destruction. Worse, even – it would bring _their_ elimination. At the best, they would lose most of their property (except what they wisely stored in banks in Orlais) and would have to escape to some smelly province like the Anderfells, or, Maker forbid, Ferelden. All because of one man.

For two months, they tried to explain this to people – well, except the last point, of course. They tried all their traditional ways–pamphlets, ridicule, malign, doubting his achievements in the Blight... But it was of no use.

First, it was difficult to malign someone who apparently was innocent as a lamb-all they could dig up was that during the Blight he lost his patience a few times and turned several people into ice statues, but even that wasn't permanent, only for a few minutes. And after the blizzard that covered the whole of Antiva in snow for two days, that was not going to impress anyone.

The only other thing they dug up was that matter about Templar murdering his family when he was a little child, but that would makes things worse for them. Templar were not exactly popular in Antiva, it would only endear the crazy mage to Antivans even more.

It was truly a difficult situation. They had no idea how to deal with this Warden-mania. The most obvious solution would be to get rid of him... permanently. After all, they were the best guild of assassins in the world. But there were a few difficulties with that.

First, crazy and young as he was, the Hero was royally tough to kill. During his first week in Antiva, he calmly and systematically disposed of every single assassin they sent against him. Until he lost his patience and summoned that damned blizzard. They couldn't hide _that_ from the Guildmaster. He ran to meet the Hero and just as they expected, it ended in the worst possible disaster-their reunion.

Second, a few cheap tricks with ice and that populist talk about justice and the Hero became extremely popular among the masses. It seemed his glamour was increasing by leaps every moment. If the Hero died, it would cause unprecedented riots. And riots always caused just lot of expenses. Better to avoid that.

Third, the mage was a Warden - no, he was _The_ Warden. With many powerful friends. They had already received silent warnings - from the First Warden, King of Fereldan, Mages Collective, one of the most powerful groups of bards in Orlais, Dalish and even one group of Rivaini pirates, for Maker's sake. Should the Hero suddenly perish, said all those warnings, and should there be even the slightest suspicion that the Crows were involved, there wouldn't be a single Crow left alive.

And last but not least, there was their new Guildmaster. The man who had been successfully escaping them for more than a year. When they finally captured him, he somehow managed to convince one of his captors to help him, dealt with the others, sneaked back into Antiva, and killed three of the Masters before they figured out what was going on. And who was also the Hero's lover and the very reason why that crazy kid came to Antiva.

The triple-damned whoreson and traitor, Zevran Arainai.

Yes, the Masters were desperate. They must do something, and quickly. Or they would soon be the laughing stock of the whole of Thedas. Those two must die.

* * *

><p>It was decided that this delicate task required a first-class assassin. They could do it themselves, perhaps, but most of them were out of practice. As Senior Masters, they hadn't needed to kill anyone themselves for <em>years<em> – they had other things to do, controlling the politics and finance of the Guild and the whole country. The dirty work was for lower ranks.

And those few that still could do it – and oh how they would love it – like Master Xavier, who was the Guildmaster's previous owner, could not risk being spotted anywhere in Antiva right now. So they had to rely on others, controlling them from the shadow.

Problem was, there weren't many of the first-class assassins left. Long gone were times when the loss of a first class assassin could be waved away with a little comment that they were expendable. And again it was all the fault of Arainai and his lover. In less than two years, those two cost them two dozens of first-class Crows, starting with Taliesen, and at least a hundred of average staff. And those that were left were directly under the Guildmaster.

All of them politely but firmly refused to have anything to do with it. "There are easier ways to commit suicide," said the boldest of them. They received the same answer when they asked the cell in Denerim to help. Ignacio sent back an angry answer that he was not that big a _cretin_ to go against those two and that whoever wants to try better do it outside of Denerim, so he wouldn't be among the suspects. This was perhaps the best proof of how weak they'd become - not so long ago, Ignacio would have his tongue cut and then he'd be publicly flogged till death for such insolence. Now, all they could do was to grind their teeth and swear that one day he would pay.

After some search and tests, they finally found five promising candidates. They were still just common Crows, but promised to be promoted to Junior Masters if they succeeded, they were all more than eager to try. Of course, if they failed they would die. But they were all confident that wouldn't happen. They were serious about their business, after all.

* * *

><p>Velasco was the first volunteer. He was a Rivaini, small and wiry and with a face nobody wanted to look at twice. Which he of course used as his advantage. His speciality, his Master proudly claimed, was masking himself, becoming an invisible part of a crowd, and his traps were always deadly.<p>

That day, the man put traditional clothes, a long plain brown tunic with a wide black sash and black turban; he put on old dusty leather sandals and even a false moustache. He checked himself in the mirror and hummed, satisfied with what he saw. Perfectly neglectable, just like he wanted. It wasn't really necessary, the Guildmaster had only seen him once and even that was for less than a minute, but he didn't get this far being sloppy.

He then found a beautiful young elf whore, dressed her in a cheap flashy dress that revealed more than it hid, bought one nice cobra, a bunch of adders (he even got a nice discount) and a flute, stuffed it all in a basket and went to the biggest market in Antiva. From one of the slaves in the Guildmaster's villa, he knew that the Guildmaster and the Hero would go there again today. It was no secret that the Hero liked its pulsating life, all the smells and sounds and colours. The ideal place for an assassination; it was a sign of the their arrogance that they paraded there without any bodyguards, as if it belonged to them. Now they would pay the price of that arrogance.

At the market, he chose the place they would have to pass. There he took out the flute, shaking the adders that entwined it back to the basket, and started to play. The girl took the cobra and started to dance. Soon there was a little crowd of foreigners and kids surrounding them, and just as he expected, everyone looked at the beautiful dancer, not her rugged companion.

An hour or so later, he could see them coming. The Hero was always very easy to spot, with his white skin and that ridiculous violet dye on his hair. Why would anyone want to have hair like that? It matched nicely with his purple eyes, but still. It was had been a point of discussion for all Antivans for few weeks now, and several nobles were trying to find out how he achieved that shade, but with no success.

This of course wasn't the first time the Warden saw such a performance, but he knew he could never resist watching it again. He was sure he would not miss it today, either.

And he was right. "Oh, look, Zev! Isn't it awesome?"

"Ridiculously," confirmed the Guildmaster eagerly, though he didn't even look at the dancer – he was too busy watching the Hero's ass.

But as long as the Guildmaster wasn't looking at _him_, it was enough. Nobody saw how the basket with the adders fell, it could be any of the bystanders –

– the adders were crawling over the cold stone tiles paving the market –

– one of the adders almost reached the Hero's ankle –

"Snakes! Why'd it have to be _snakes_?"

"Hm?" The Hero winced and turned back to the damned foreigner that had just ruined his perfect plan. If he hated snakes why did he come to the snake show?

"What do you – oh. It seems some of your snakes ran away, signor," the Hero turned back to him, as if he didn't know. "But don't worry, I'll help you collect them."

Before Velasco could do anything, before the people could start to panic (which would give him the opportunity to use the cobra), the crazy mage cast some spell and all the adders immediately stopped moving. The Hero then collected them, and gently put them into the basket again.

"Don't worry, they are just sleeping," he beamed, as if it was an absolutely normal thing to do.

The Guildmaster threw a suspicious glance at him. "Come, _amore_, this guy is clearly just a beginner anyway," he said with a smirk.

"Don't be mean, Zev, he tried his best," said the Hero. "Here, good man. Buy yourself some new cloth and a safer basket."

He beamed again, patted him on the shoulder, and then they simply walked away, as if nothing happened.

xxx

The Masters watched the assassin watching the feeding python.

"Any other volunteers?"

* * *

><p>The second to try was Olivia, a beautiful elf with a horrible character, renowned for her poisons. She watched the punishment with a scornful smile on her lips. That kind of attack was just ruining the good name of the assassins. Her idea was much better and bound to work.<p>

After she received the task, she went straight home and closed herself in her lab. When she got out, several hours later, she was dishevelled, hungry and exhausted, but satisfied. She had exactly what she needed. Soon the Hero would be dead and nobody would be any wiser. She had the best night in years, dreaming of those fat cows Nessa and Lyna having to bow to her as their new Master.

The next day she went scouting to find out where and when the Hero and the Guildmaster would be during that afternoon. Why leave for tomorrow what she could do today, yes?

At 3:00 in the afternoon, the two of them would be at the Royal Palace, meeting with the Queen, and it would be impossible to reach them, but after that, the Hero wanted to go into a bookstore - _again_. She snorted. The mageling probably thought he was one of them intellectuals, something more than the other elves, normal people who were not freaked enough to be taken to the Circle. Well, it won't save his ass from her poison.

The best place to strike would where the _Via __delle __Vite_ joined the Piazza di Rivaini. It had a lot of shady places to hide and enough pathetic fools she could use for her plan. She wasn't going to poison the Hero. That would be too predictable. No, she intended to poison other people, and let them do the dirty job for her. Very carefully, she planned her every move, checked the place where she would stand, the best angle to shoot, the people she would use everything. She then coated not one, but three with the poison and made sure her blowgun was in perfect shape. That many were not really necessary - with the effect of the poison, one was more than enough - but she didn't become one of the best poisoners by being sloppy.

Now all she had to do was to wait.

Exactly at 4:10, the Guildmaster and the Hero appeared at the square, speaking in rapid Fereldan, probably thought it made them look more cool, laughing heartily at some idiotic joke. Well, let them laugh. It won't last much longer.

A beggar, sitting at the bottom of the famous Rivaini Steps, playing on a lute – or rather murdering it, judging by the sounds it was making - was the first of her chosen targets. She blew the dart... and watched in horror as a tiny elven girl ran right into her shot.

The girl yelped and stopped, dropping two silver coins she probably wanted to give the beggar.

"Marietta, is something wrong?" The girl's mother ran over to her, but the girl ignored her.

Lying on her back, she screamed and screamed, kicking her arms and legs into the air. The hallucinations had probably started already, causing immense fear and, consequently, aggression. Yes, the poison worked perfectly. The only problem was that no matter how furious the kid was, this tantrum would hardly kill the Hero. And now they were alert that something was wrong; the Guildmaster was already scanning the surroundings for anything suspicious. _Brasca! Better lay low for a while, before trying again._

The Hero stopped by the mother, who was becoming more and more hysterical and soon was screaming louder than her daughter.

"If you'll allow me? I know a bit of healing magic, perhaps I could help."

Not waiting for the reply, he knelt down next to the girl, examining the wound. "A _bee _stung her," he said calmly, looking at the Guildmater, who immediately checked her too. He snorted.

"That was a very nasty bee," he said, taking out a little bottle from one of his pockets. "Here, this should help."

The Hero gave it to the girl and then held her in his arms, until she calmed down. "Don't worry, _principessa_, it won't sting again. Each bee has only one try."

"True. Every nasty bee that hurts little girls dies gruesomely," said the Guildmaster.

"_Zev!_ You're scaring her."

"My apologies."

"What would you say about a nice big cake, _principessa_?"

"With strawberries?" The little girl beamed with joy.

"Naturally." The Hero nodded, smiling. It took very little effort to convince the mother – no one in Antiva would refuse an invitation from any of those two.

They left together, talking and joking as if they were all best friends, and all she was able to do was to watch in horror, hoping those two fat cows didn't see this fiasco.

xxx

The Masters were furious. Olivia's body was almost beyond recognition by the effect of some terrible potion.

"Is there anyone half competent among you?"

* * *

><p>Everyone in Antiva knew that the Hero was a glutton. The chefs and staffs in the restaurants where he and the Guildmaster were eating, were as discreet as expected when your guests was the leader of the Crows. But there were other people who saw them eating and those let their tongue slip about it.<p>

It was the Guildmaster's fault for being foolish and not closing the restaurant for anyone else during their visit. To risk like that, just because the Hero was too immature to care for safety and preferred the 'atmosphere' of crowded places... Well, the gossip was the least price to pay.

The moment Alessandro heard about this 'kill-your-Hero' challenge, he went to check himself. And the moment he saw it, he knew what he was going to do. The very same day, he got the job of a kitchenhand in one of the Hero's favourite restaurants. It would be too suspicious to start working there only on the day of the assassination.

And, just as he expected, the two fools before him failed.

A week or so after he started working there, the owner came to announce that _signori_ Arainai (nobody right in their heads would publicly name him the leader of the Crows, of course) and Surana were coming for lunch tomorrow. And that everything must be perfect, as always, or he would have _them_ slaughtered, skinned, roasted and served as pork with mint sauce.

Maybe it was the threat of the mint sauce, but in the next twenty four hours everyone in the kitchen worked as if all kings and queens of Thedas were coming.

The chefs carefully prepared the menu – they would start with Insalata di Nervetti, followed by Ginestrata Soup - the only dish in normal quantity, as the Hero didn't really like soups. And then it followed: Anello di Polenta con Moscardini, Polenta e Osei Scappati, Polentone con Lumachi, Orata al Cartoccio, Pagello al Sale, Bisato Fritto...

"Isn't it a bit too much? Even a company of hungry Qunari wouldn't be able to eat all this," Alessandro asked innocently.

The main chef boxed his ears as if he was a snotty brat. "_Silenzio, __idiota_! Will you look at that, a kitchenhand telling me what to put on the menu! One more word and you're fired. Now, where was I..."

The list continued with salads and side dishes and of course desserts. It was an insane amount of food, and normally he'd expect anyone that would eat all that to die of food poisoning even without the help of the Crows. But for the Hero it was obviously a 'standard meal'.

He had to pay close attention to what was served and when, in order to choose the best poisons that wouldn't affect the taste, and that would seem like a billiary colic - if he really ate that much, the Hero had it coming anyway. When they arrived, each and every dish contained a deadly dose of poison. It probably wasn't necessary to poison everything, but Alessandro didn't get where he was by being sloppy.

They were welcomed personally by the owner and the main chef who were beaming like a pair of fools, and seated at the best table.

"Dear Warden, we are honoured to have you in our humble restaurant again," said the owner. Humble indeed. A normal family of four could live for a week for the price of one dinner here.

"I hope you are hungry, Warden," beamed the main chef, "and that you will enjoy the menu we prepared for you and _signori_ Arainai."

"I'm _starved_. I've been ravishing Zevran the whole morning, but alas, he's not very nutritious. The more I ravished him the hungrier I was."

The Guildmaster laughed. "Oho! Since when you are so debauched and outspoken?"

"Since I live with a certain silly Antivan."

Alessandro would love to hear more, but then the _poissonnier_ noticed him. Back in the kitchen the man boxed his ears again, and strictly forbid him to enter the hall again and disturb the noble customers.

The lunch went on and on, for more than two hours, but it seemed that neither the Guildmaster nor the Hero had any digestive problems so far. He was becoming more and more impatient and in the end he had to see what was going on. He pulled off his apron and sneaked into the hall, trying to hide in the shadows, but it seemed he was out of luck today - one of the waiters noticed him and immediately reported him to the main chef.

The chef was furious, and though he tried to keep his voice down, the Hero and the Guildmaster noticed and asked what was going on.

"Please forgive me," he sobbed, immediately recognizing his chance to get away without punishment. "I just wanted to see the famous Hero of Ferelden, I didn't mean anything bad, or disturb..."

The Guildmaster gave him a knowing smile that made his heart stop. He better disappear, _now_.

"Aww, poor man," said the Hero. "Please, serDomenico, don't punish him for just wanting to see me, it would make me feel real bad."

"Why don't we invite him to join us for dessert? What would you say, good man?" asked the Guildmaster pleasantly - _too_ pleasantly.

Alessandro tried to mutter some excuse, _signori_ were very kind, but he didn't deserve such honour, things like that, but the Guildmaster wouldn't have any of it. The next moment he found himself seated with them and an extra plate was brought for him.

"Zev, don't," hissed the Hero quietly when the main chef, pale and mute by fury, left for the kitchen. "What if it's poisoned?"

Alessandro almost got a heart attack. "B-but, signor Warden," he asked, and his shock was not pretended at all, "why are you eating it if you suspect poisoning?"

"It's nearly impossible to poison _Wardens_. Because of the Ta- I mean, we have _immunity_ to most poisons. And Zevran here, he has great resistance as well. As long as the poison doesn't mess up the taste, I don't really care." The Hero gave him a smug smile, but then frowned again. "You, on the other hand..."

The Guildmaster smiled again. "You worry too much, _amore __mio_. We are friends with everyone in this restaurant, no? Here," he cut a generous piece of Millefogli cake and pushed it to Alessandro, "have you tried this? It is truly delicious."

Alessandro gulped nervously. He had an antidote for the poison _he_ put into the cake, of course, and there would be more than enough time to take it, and it was improbable the Guildmaster could add anything during that brief moment, but still - this was the _Guildmaster_ after all. But there was no way around it. Reluctantly, he took the piece of cake.

"Delicious," he said with a smile, and if it was bit stiff, the Guildmaster didn't complain.

xxx

Mallorie watched it with a scornful smile on her lips. She left the restaurant in a great mood and decided to skip the meeting with the Masters. Why waste the time? She knew where the Guildmaster and the Hero would be going now. Those two would die today.

* * *

><p>The Great Library d'Antiva. One of the biggest and best in Thedas. Pride of the country. It contained over 15 000 books - all that were worth anything, as the proud librarian would say.<p>

It was built only fifty or so years ago, and the Orlesians would never forget to point out _their_ library was much older, but really, it was the only thing they could say. The architecture of the Library d'Antiva was planned and built by the great Michaelo himself, and it was revolutionary. The reading room was even built so that it mimicked a human body, which, as everyone knows, is an ideal form. Yes, the Great Library d'Antiva was marvellous.

Such a pity she would have to burn it down.

It was simple: the Hero loved books. The Library was one of his favourite places and he went there almost every day. The librarians were all in love with him – during his travels he came across a few very rare old tomes, some of them unique, and he gifted the Library with one of them. It was the _Codex __Amantius_, a collection of love songs and poems by anonymous authors dated at least to the beginning of the Steel Age.

The Hero was coming today as well; the other mages, that he met in the Library and quickly befriended, were already there. They would spend at least two hours discussing books, philosophy or different schools of magic. During the last week, Mallorie spent hours observing them, and she had to admit she didn't understand one word of it. It made her feel stupid, and she didn't like that.

The best part of it was that it would be impossible to trace the fire back to the Crows. Even if there was some suspicion, nobody would believe that the Crows would be willing to destroy the Library. Assassins or not, the Crows were patriots, everyone knew that.

Except when they were not.

Malloriewas _not_ Antivan. She was Orlesian, sold to the Crows when she was six. She hated this country where everyone was constantly sweating and she hated the Crows. And most of all, she hated the Guildmaster. They had a little romance, a few years back. They were lovers for whole three weeks! And now he pretended he didn't know her! He broke her heart. And for that, he would pay.

_Ergo,_ it was the ideal solution. The Hero would be dead, together with all those uppity scholars that made her feel stupid, the Guildmaster would be heartbroken just as he deserved and she would be promoted to a Master.

Grinning widely, she went through the whole building, checking that everything was in place. It wasn't really necessary, because she checked it this morning, but she didn't get where she was by being sloppy. Now all that remained was to wait for the Guildmaster and the Hero... and as she was in the library, she could spend this time reading. Seating herself comfortably in one of the perfect armchairs in the reading room, she started reading.

When she looked up from the book, it was already dark. She was the last one in the Library and they wanted to close it for a night.

The Guildmaster and the Hero... didn't show up.

xxx

They started with five Crows, all of who were very talented and ambitious, as their trainers assured them. But they watched them fail, one by one, and their hopes were dwindling rapidly. The last attempt… if it even could be called that… brought some of them to the verge of tears. If this didn't stop quickly, they would be the laughing stock of the whole of Thedas.

Master Xavier gritted his teeth and kicked the pile of still warm ashes that used to be on the floor. How he would love to kill the whoreson by his own hands! But Arainai believed he was dead and it was better if it remained that way. He didn't forget the message the mage he hired to deal with the whoreson brought back. '_Tell __him __I__'__m __glad __he __reminded __me __of __his __existence. __I __will __definitely __drop __by __to __say __hello __when __I__'__m __in __Antiva_'. The mage said it with an eerily calm expression of a Tranquil. Master Xavier immediately decided it would be much better for his health to stay out of the whoreson's way.

He looked at the young elf lad, trying hard to seem unnerved by the scene he witnessed and smiled. This was one of his own, beautiful and deadly, not unlike the whoreson was at that age. He gently stroked the elf's cheek.

"You better not fail," he said sweetly. "If you do, I will not kill you. You will live for long years, begging me to finally end it every day. Do you understand? Go."

Their last hope, he thought bitterly. May all the gods and demons protect him and grant him success.

* * *

><p>Fain really, <em>really<em> didn't want to do this. He knew very well that the most renowned Crows refused the task as impossible. What chance did _he_ have? He only became a full Crow a year ago. Sure, he was quite successful and often bragged about being the best in Antiva, but he was no fool to hope he would achieve what the Archdemon and even the Guildmaster himself failed to do.

But he had to at least try. Hm… how to do it? Poisons didn't work… more elaborate plans required much more time and money than the Masters had given him… burning the library was out of question… what to do? _What __to __do?_

That night was the worst in his life.

* * *

><p>The best part of his plan was his hiding place, he thought dolefully. It gave him an excellent view; he could see and hear everything, while he himself could not be spotted.<p>

Well, let them laugh. If the plan worked it would be their last. The ship carpenter demonstrated the device to him and assured him it would work. It was as good a plan as any and when he calculated the cost of the materials, work and bribes for the guards, it jut fit his budget, so he agreed. The carpenter and his apprentices then spent the last two nights rigging the Guildmaster's boat.

He watched them boarding and sitting in the stern of the boat, chatting merrily with the crew and clearly enjoying themselves. He felt a pang of envy. How nice it would be, to be there with them, carefree, not have to worry about that old fart Xavier!

And then it happened. _It __worked_.

Sort of.

The boat collapsed, just as the carpenter promised. The only problem was it happened one hundred meters from the shore. They had no trouble swimming back. Everyone survived. Nobody was even injured, it seemed. The Hero probably cast some protective magic the moment it collapsed. He knew he should run away immediately, but he couldn't bother.

The Guildmaster was cursing like a drunk sailor, but the Hero was laughing loudly. The crew watched him suspiciously at first, as if they weren't sure if he wouldn't go mad, but then they started snickering, too.

"And what are you laughing about so much, you crazy kid, hm? They ruined my boat, my shirt and most importantly our cruise!"

"Ah, come on, Zev. You must admit it was _the __best_! At least this one had an interesting idea. And the swim was quite refreshing, no?" The Hero laughed again and looked around. "If whoever did this is still hiding somewhere nearby, please come out! I promise we won't kill you or hurt you!" he shouted.

There was a ringing silence. "You really _are_ crazy," said the Guildmaster, expressing the opinion of everyone around, Fain included. The Hero ignored them.

"It's your best chance," he continued. "Surrender and you will live, under my protection."

"_Amore __mio_. It is useless. I'm sure he's long gone by now. He would have to be a total _cretin_ to stay here, and even bigger to listen to you."

Quite true, of course. To trust their word would be extremely foolish… but what did he have to lose? Whatever they did, it would hardly be worse than what Xavier promised.

When he jumped down from his hiding place, the crew immediately surrounded him, and for a moment he was sure he was going to die, there and then, but the Hero stopped them. The Guildmaster stared at him with utter disbelief.

"Why didn't you run away?" he asked.

Fain shrugged. "It's you or Master Xavier. What's the difference?"

"Xavier?" The Hero turned to the Guildmaster. "Isn't that our _dream __Master_?"

"As far as I know, there was only one Xavier among the Masters, so yes, it would be him. But I thought he was dead?" The Guildmaster watched Fain with cold suspicion.

"I assure you he is very much alive and in Antiva."

"So he's the one behind all this? Pathetic. I guess I should stop him before he finds someone really competent."

"One of them, yes. But you do not have to worry," he said humbly. "The more competent ones all refused, and I was the last of the five he recruited."

The Hero laughed again. "They refused? I can't see why. But you said _five_? I only counted four."

"That's because you didn't go to the library, three days ago."

"The library? What do you mean?"

"The fifth assassin – she wanted to burn down the library."

"_To __burn __down __the __Library_."

Fain shivered in terror and dropped his eyes. Maker's balls, what a quick change. From a naïve, crazy kid to a demon of revenge, eyes black with rage, surrounded with an icy aura. No wonder those who knew him rejected the task.

"_Zevran_. I want him dead, _today_."

The Guildmaster nodded and turned to him. "Perhaps our new friend… what did you say your name was?"

"I am Fain, Master. At your service."

"Nice name. Perhaps you can tell us where we can find _dear_ Xavier?"

"I will gladly take you to where he was hiding until today, Master. I can't guarantee he will be still there, however," he said as humbly as he could.

"Wherever he is, he dies today," snapped the Hero. "Stupid, primitive, vulgar brute…"

"Yes, he dies today. Five assassination attempts, that can't go unpunished," agreed the Guildmaster.

"Ah, who cares about that… But he wanted to _burn __the __Library_, Zev! Do you realize what that would mean? What a loss it would be, not just for Antiva, but for the whole Thedas?"

"True, but our lives more important than a big pile of books, no?"

Fain followed them quietly, more and more bewildered as they continued their little argument. These two, he decided, were _both_ completely crazy. But one thing was sure.

He really, _really_ wouldn't want to be in Xavier's place right now.


	7. Collector's Passion

_Written for DAWC challenge: a story about one of the (many) random pieces of... stuff... you pick up in the world. Hm… what things could possibly my crazy kid pick up? xD This story practically wrote itself. :o)_

* * *

><p><strong>Collector's Passion<strong>

"No. Forget it."

Airam tried his best, but too bad–he was immune to those innocent puppy… _purple_… _shiny_… eyes. _Immune_, he said! Angry with himself for his hesitation, he decided to be more strict. Frowning, he folded his arms and tried to glare at the crazy kid. Of course it didn't have any effect.

"And you're not going to take any, either. Your backpack is full of them, anyway."

"But they're –"

"Invaluable, I know. But still, _no_. You may send dwarves to collect them once we're back."

Airam's glare was much more impressive. "That's impossible and you know it. Nobody will agree to do it. If I don't take them with me, they'll be lost forever. I can't allow that."

"You will have to. As your trainer and bodyguard, I'm not going to allow you to almost cripple yourself, _again_, just because of some ancient rubbish."

"All right, all right. What about compromise, then? I will take only two, but you must take two, as well."

Zevran looked at the big heap of books at the floor. He counted twenty. The rest probably weren't so invaluable. It seemed less than half of what was in the damned chest, anyway. Had he known what is in it, he would never allowed the crazy kid to open it.

But… this was the first time since the fight with Branka and her golems that Airam smiled. And he wasn't smiling a lot before that either. The Deep Roads were very hard for everyone, but it seemed it had some special meaning for his little Warden. Zevran had never seen him this quiet and depressed. So if Airam was willing to sacrifice the rest… It would be mean and fussy to take even that little joy from him.

He nodded in agreement. Airam gave him the sweetest of his smiles. "Thank you, Zev. You're a true pal."

He expected much bigger resistance, and was pleasantly surprised that Airam didn't make any fuss about it. Perhaps the crazy kid has really matured, he thought proudly.

Until they were finally out of those dark, smelly holes. They reached the inn, and happily put their backpacks down. He immediately took them out and gave them to Airam. To his surprise, Morrigan did the same thing. Sten took out four. So did Shale. Oghren had three. And -

"Don't tell me you made poor Rask carry them for you as well!"

"He's not poor. He's strong, the strongest and most amazing Mabari in the world! Aren't you, my boy? Yes you are! And besides, he only had two."

"And the remaining three are in your backpack."

"How did you guess? Ooh, Zev, you really are _so_ sharp! Awesome! Ridiculously awesome, I might add." Airam grinned and patted him on the shoulder. Then he carefully carried them to his room. It took him three turns. The last time he gave them a stern look, and they nodded. They knew already what it meant.

_Do not disturb. Grey Bibliophile of Ferelden is at work._


	8. Fade Night

**Fade Night**

Zevran sighed contentedly. The late autumn in Ferelden was as disgustingly cold as he expected. And full of mud. It made everything even browner than usual. Camping outside became depressing – there was no way to heat the tents properly and everything was always cold and wet. The inns were drier and warmer – though not by much, the rooms often had big black mouldy spots on the ceiling and corners – but not cleaner. It was real lucky that Wynne and Morrigan knew a few handy spells that got their rooms and beds rid of the hordes of bedbugs, flees and other miniature companions eager to show them their love by stinging, biting and sucking them during the night.

When they reached Erwin's mansion that day, they were in a miserable shape and mood. But Erwin was not a genius for nothing. Their rooms were already ready, warm and clean and cosy, and the tubs were full of hot steaming water. The dinner – spicy minced beef with beans, was the best meal they had in weeks.

It was only after dinner, when they were sitting in the living room, listening to cracking of the fire and sipping hot chocolate – chocolate! Where did Erwin get it, in this Maker-forgotten country? – that they mentioned the ridiculous superstition. Fade Night, how stupid. The Veil opening for a night, letting the creatures of the Fade out? Who opened it? And who closed it later? And how did they force the demons to return back? Wouldn't they just possess the first person they met and stay here?

"And since when you are a mage, Zevran?" Asked Erwin, quirking his brow. "There are many creatures in the Fade, not only demons. They cannot possess you... but they are far from harmless. They will find your weakness, and they will use against you, feeding on your fear and despair. Trust me, my friend – you don't want to underestimate them. So don't forget to put glyphs on the door and windows to keep the foul things out."

Of course he didn't believe it. Who would? These Fereldans. Their customs were just as dreary as their country and weather.

oOo

He woke up to a weird sound. It was as if... someone was trying to get in through his window. Which was impossible – he checked that during their first stay here. It was too high, there were no trees nearby and the walls were too smooth. But the sound was not stopping. He took out his daggers from under his pillow and crept to the window. What he saw there was... impossible.

"Leliana?"

It was Leliana and yet it wasn't her at all. Leliana's hair wasn't so red. Or curly. And her eyes were not yellow. Nor did she have fangs. And, most importantly – Leliana would rather _die_ than wear that ugly black dress.

"Let me in, Zevran," she whispered hoarsely in Leliana's voice. "You were right, it is so long since I had any fun... let me in, and I promise you a night you won't forget..."

It was the voice that ruined it all, he thought. If it had another voice, he might have believed it was some evil spirit. "Oh, I see. This is some kind of silly trick that is supposed to scare me, yes? Nice try, but it is not working, I am afraid. You will have to ..."

He was interrupted by the creaking of the door. "Zevran, let me in," someone whispered. It took him a moment to recognize the voice, merely because he didn't expect that the old lady who so cared about dignity would agree to take part in such a silly prank.

He turned, really annoyed now. "Ah, Wynne, my dear, you can always..." His voice trailed off.

Wynne looked twenty years older. Which meant she looked as if she was going to die the next moment. Thin, merely a bag of bones and big folds of skin. Face more like skull, with hungry yellow eyes. It seemed as if the only thing that was keeping her from falling apart was her robes.

"Come, Zevran," she purred, "put your head on my bosom..."

He shivered at the idea. Or perhaps it was the cold air, streaming through the open window – wait, what? He turned just as Leliana stepped inside with a victorious smile on her lips. She moved closer to him, swaying her hips. Behind him, Wynne moved closer as well. He quickly stepped aside, so he could see both of them. Wynne licked her lips. This wasn't funny any more. At all.

"My dear ladies, as much as I am pleasantly surprised – honoured, even, by your sudden interest, I don't think our dear leader would appreciate it if -"

"Blood," Leliana cut in, "give me your blood."

They kept moving forward, and he was slowly backing away from them. When Wynne reached out her hand to grab him, he jumped aside and ran out out the room.

And almost banged into Morrigan. "Is something wrong, Zevran? You are shaking, my friend, and no wonder. 'Tis cold here, is it not? Come, let's go to my room and I will warm you."

He immediately pulled away from her. Leliana might be convinced to put on an ugly dress, or Wynne to make a prank – but Morrigan, calling him _a friend_? That was ridiculous. Morrigan was smiling, but her eyes had the same hungry look as Leliana and Wynne's. He hesitated. He was still pretty sure this was just some kind of trick, but if so, they were damned convincing, he would give them that. But what if, purely theoretically, of course – it was not a trick?

In that case, his situation was not good. Not good at all. He only had two daggers. No armour. No potions or poisons, or bombs. And there seemed to be at least four strange creatures here.

Perhaps he should go check on Airam. If this was real, he would know about it. He was not as much worried for him – he was pretty sure Airam could easily deal with whatever these creatures were. And if this was a trick, he could always pretend he was going to scare the crazy kid, no? He started to run down the corridor, ignoring the mad, violent laughter behind him.

"Run as much as you wish, Zevran! You cannot hide from us!"

Airam's room was not far from his, just behind the corner. Normally it would take no time to get there. But now the corridor just went on, there was no sight of the end. Doors were opening all around him, some slowly, creaking eerily, some with a loud bang. Everything was blurred. _The Fade_, he realized suddenly and cold shivers ran down his spine. It was just like in the Fade. That meant the Veil was really torn. He had to reach Airam, as soon as possible.

"Hehe. What are you doing, elf? It almost looks as if you were scared."

Oghren. A tiny spark of hope lit up in his chest – weren't the dwarves immune to magic? Perhaps he could help to fight. He opened his mouth to ask, but Oghren cut in.

"Or perhaps you came to good old Oghren to give you some Deep Road experience."

Ugh. Just thinking about it made him sick. Avoiding Oghren's clumsy attempt to grab him, he started to run again. Suddenly a door to his left banged open and a big figure emerged. Sten. The Qunari leaned on the door frame – and winked at him. Somehow, that was the worst of all.

Finally, there was the corner – it was the second door – only few more steps... (He bit back a sob of despair as it seemed the door was stepping back, out of his reach – and then the door opened. (

"Zev? What's going on?"

Airam looked sleepy and confused, but otherwise normal. He was wearing the same old big shirt Alistair gave him so long ago, after the battle with the 'new Andraste', and he had used as a nightgown ever since. And most importantly – his eyes were still a/their lovely purple. He laughed with relief. As expected, Airam was safe and he would know what to do.

"I am not sure, but I think you should see yourself," he gasped.

"All right. Give me a moment to put on my clothes and get my weapons... but you better come inside and wait in my room."

He could already hear steps and Morrigan's mad laughter, so he didn't argue. He quickly got in and locked the door behind him. Only then he relaxed a little.

"Maker, Zev, what's wrong? You're as pale as a sheet. Come here, sit down. Do you want a drink?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Just put on your robes, quickly." Even before he finished it, there was a knock on the door, followed by a creepy malicious giggle. But Airam was calm, as if he didn't hear it.

"Hurry," he said anxiously. "Don't you hear it? They're already here."

But Airam just smiled – revealing a pair of pointy fangs. "Yes," he said, gently stroking his cheek. His hand was icily cold. "They are."

The door slowly opened and they all walked in, Morrigan, Wynne, Leliana, even Sten and Oghren, just as Airam leaned in to kiss him. _But I locked the door_, he thought desperately. And then he didn't know anything any more.

oOo

"Will he be all right?" Asked Airam guiltily, removing the false fangs. "I hope we didn't overdo it."

"I am sure he will be all right," assured Leliana. "Maker, how I hate wigs! And this dress is horrible!"

"Where's Erwin? Tell him he can cancel the spells now," said Wynne.

"Why? It suits you well," snickered Morrigan.

"Stop that nonsense," he growled angrily. "He _fainted_, if you didn't notice. It's not fun any more. Help me to bring him back to his room."

From their expressions it was clear that it _was_ fun, but they didn't argue with him. Sten gently picked up Zevran and took him to his room, while the rest of them returned to their own rooms. He sat next to Zevran and wrapped him in healing magic, feeling guilty. But who would have thought Zevran would faint? He really expected Zevran would realize that Erwin was an _illusionist_ and look through this... But no, he went and fainted just as they were about to reveal the trick. Silly, silly assassin...

He chuckled. The next few days were going to be fun.


	9. Love Thy Neighbour

_Written for Zevran's Thread challenge: **Pearl**** of**** Wisdom**. Do with it what you want, OP said. _

_The 'pearl of wisdom' in the story is Slovak saying – love is often blind, your neighbour never (láska býva slepá, susedia nikdy). _

_Thanks to Brelaina for beta-reading this._

* * *

><p><strong>Love Thy Neighbour<strong>

"You are so right, my dear. I can't see what a charming young lad like him can see in that… that…"

The shrill voice of Signora Orsola, their fat landlady, was resounding through the open window. They stopped in their tracks just in front of the door. Airam bit his lip to suppress his chuckle. Tiptoeing, they moved a bit aside from the window.

"Brat? Dosser? Scapegrace?" Offered another voice helpfully. Helping others was Signora's Malvolia favourite hobby. Especially in cases of when her help was not needed or welcomed. The two ladies were best friends for more than six decades now, although they both pretended it was only four.

"Scapegrace, yes. You can see that just by his looks. What normal person would dye his hair such a ridiculous colour!"

"And those clothes," joined Signora Malvolia, correctly assuming that it was not a question at all; the answer was quite obvious to anyone with at least a bit of common sense. "Instead of wearing a proper robes, like a respectful mage –"

Signora Orsola snorted. 'Respectful' and that person should not be used in one sentence. Her friend spotted her mistake and quickly corrected herself. "But of course, what would such a ne'er do well know about proper clothes and manners…"

"It's too much free time, I say," said Signora Orsola wisely. "Something like that would not happen when we were young. We had to work hard to earn our keep. There was no time to get funny ideas about changing our hair colour. And if we did, father would beat it out of us immediately, may the Maker bless his soul."

"You are absolutely right, my dear. But what else can be expected from the brats raised up in the Circle? Teaching them Maker-knows-what, magical tricks. While we have to break our backs, they're just having fun with no worry in the world! Living of the sweat of honest people! What else can be expected from one of those?"

He wrapped his arms around Airam's waist, to calm him down – to calm both of them, in fact. But Airam seemed more sad than angry, probably more depressed by what was being said about mages in general than what they said about him.

Of course, if the fat cow knew who they were, she would not dare talk like this. But if they arrived under their real names, they would be housed at the manor of some local noble, who would want to parade them in front of every single '_important__' _person in the region, forced to go to endless lunches, dinners and parties. Not their idea of a holiday. In fact, they came to Rialto to escape that at least for a few weeks. That was why they arrived anonymously and found this mansion, it was reasonably comfortable and had a perfect location. The only thing that was not so great was their landlady.

"You speak my mind," agreed that fat cow Orsola. "That is why I'm worried about the poor young Signor Vito. He's such a charming young gentleman! His manners are impeccable."

"But of course! He is an Antivan, after all. You can immediately see he had a proper upbringing. I bet even outside the Circle, Fereldans are just barbarians."

"Ugh, did you notice how his things smell? Like wet dogs. I tried to wash it out, but it's impossible. The whole country probably smells like that."

"Who wouldn't notice that? Honestly, I don't know Signor Vito can stand it…. He could have anyone he wanted, I'm sure all the young ladies and gentlemen are crazy after him. And he chooses that vagrant."

"I just wonder how his parents allow it. If he was my son… Perhaps they do not know? I think we should write them a letter, Malvolia, and inform them. Before that wastrel corrupts him."

"That is a brilliant idea, my dear friend! I'm sure he thinks he loves him, but he's just ruining his life. You know how it is, _love __is__ often __blind_–"

"– _but __your __neighbour__ never_," he added, laughing loudly. To hear that his adorable crazy kid could corrupt him was too much.

Oh, the terrified look on the faces of those two harpies was invaluable. They tried to blabber some excuses, that they meant well and that they didn't want to offend. For a little moment they enjoyed the view, but then Airam laughed.

"Think whatever you want, my dear ladies. Thinking is for free. Just don't overdo it; in your case I'm sure it hurts awfully. But if I ever hear you to talk about my people like that – then I'll be angry. And trust me, I'm even more barbaric when I'm angry. You truly do not wish to see that."

They were offended and angry, but didn't dare to protest. Provoking a mage, especially if he was from one of those half-civilised nations in the south, was generally considered unwise. It was quite possible they would have to look for another mansion tomorrow, but till then –

"Come, _amore_. I want you to corrupt me in all possible ways."

"Oh, yes. Prepare to be ravished, my innocent Antivan gentleman."

Mmmm. Sometimes even nosy old neighbours could be useful.


	10. Enchanted Life

**Enchanted Life**

So many things have changed, these past few days. So many lives were lost. So many lives changed completely. Including his. It could be worse, he thought. Who would have thought he would come this far? What does that man think about it? Now he was going to be higher in the Court than _that__man_ had ever been. Him, a worthless piece of trash.

oOo

He was hiding from his nanny in the kitchen garden. It was not fair. This was supposed to be his riding lesson. And he had had a bath only yesterday. Why was it necessary to have another one just because the Arl was coming? With stupid Vaughan. Pffft, that fool still had problems with conjugation in Orlesian. He would much prefer to ride his pony. Or stay with Erwin. He would like that the best. But father didn't like Erwin and said it was not fit for the Bann's son to be friendly with that sort of people.

He wasn't sure what sort of people Erwin was. He thought it must be the laughing sort. Father never laughed. Nor did Mother. She would smile, sometimes. But it always looked as if she wanted to cry instead. So he would hug her and sometimes she would allow him to kiss her on the cheek, if father wasn't around. Father would be angry and scold him for being a crybaby and weakling.

Erwin never told him he was a crybaby or weakling. He was nice. And he laughed a lot. Everything was a reason to laugh for him. But he could only see Erwin if he was sick or injured. He used to fall down and scratch his knee, so his nurse would take him to the infirmary. But then Father said if it continued he would have to go to the Templar academy for proper training. That wouldn't be nice, because he wouldn't be allowed to see Mother. Or Erwin. So he stopped falling.

He heard nanny's voice, calling him. She was coming near. Soon, she would be here and she would be angry with him. He sighed and looked around for a possible excuse. Red currants. Perfect. He quickly walked over to the bushes and stuffed some in his mouth.

"Young master! What are you doing? Spit that – come on, spit that out! You can't eat those raw! Do you want to be sick?"

He wanted to tell her he had had them before and he wasn't sick, but changed his mind. He could be _sick_. That would be the reason to go to the infirmary.

"I was hungry," he said.

"And so you came to eat raw things, like an animal? You are already a big boy, almost five, you will be breeched soon! You cannot behave like this any more. And especially not when the Arl is coming for a visit. It wouldn't be a nice thing, if they found the future Bann eating in a garden, like a mabari. Do you want to shame your father?"

"No," he grumbled miserably. Being the future Bann was no fun at all. Besides, Banns were always the sort of the people who didn't laugh. They would snicker, sometimes. But they never really laughed.

Nanny kept scolding him. He nodded and answered 'yes' and 'no' but he didn't really listen. Instead he was watching the cook's boys replaying the battle at the River Dane. The older was pretending to be an Orlesian knight and the other was Loghain MacTir. It was all wrong. But it didn't matter. They were not the future Banns. They didn't have to spend long hours learning the history of Ferelden, they didn't have to know speak Orleasian and Antivan. They were also the sort of people not fit to befriend the Bann. The laughing sort.

oOo

Nanny took him to the infirmary first, explaining to Erwin about the currants. Erwin made a serious face and said he better do some precautions, so there would not be any disturbances during the dinner with the Arl and asked her to wait outside until he was done. The moment she closed the door behind her, he turned to him and chuckled softly.

"So you ate red currants. Did you like the taste?"

He nodded.

"Then eat them as often as you can. They're good for you. These nobles and their silly manners! Me and my siblings grew up on raw fruit, and here we are, alive and healthy. Just don't eat anything rotten or laying on the ground, that can cause cramps." Erwin laughed again.

"Why are you always laughing? Nobody else laughs as often as you."

Erwin looked at him, surprised. "Does it bother you, young Master?"

"No! I like it. Father never laughs. And he doesn't like it when I'm laughing aloud, either. He says it's not proper."

"That is..." Erwin bit his lip angrily. "No, he is right. I laugh, because while I can laugh, I can be sure I am still myself."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"And I hope you never will." Erwin turned away. "You should go, young Master, or your Nanny will skin me alive," he said, laughing.

oOo

It was that night he discovered he could do things.

Stupid Vaughan, three months older. Breeched. Dressed like a man, in the same doublet and breeches like his father. Boasting about it all the time. It was so annoying. If it was him, Father would tell him not to behave like a baby. But nobody said that to Vaughan. It wasn't fair. He so wanted to punch his ugly face.

It was a relief when he was finally taken back to his room. Nanny washed him again, and then told him a story about brave Fereldan knights fighting the Orlesians. It was almost the same as his history lessons. Good thing was here he was expected to fall asleep. So he pretended he did and finally she left. He waited for a while, then he slipped out of the bed and took out one of the books he got from his uncle on his birthday. It was a story book. Father did not approve of story books, but uncle was higher than Father. Not really higher, but _in__court_. He wasn't sure what it meant. Perhaps in the court they were standing on some steps and uncle was higher. Anyway, Father didn't want uncle to be angry so he didn't take the book away.

The stories were not really nice, they were all about preachings about Andraste and the Chant of Light. But the pictures were pretty. Especially one. There was a knight in shining armour, surrounded by a lot of ugly monsters. Many were laying slain at his feet, but there were many more still standing. The knight wasn't afraid, because the Maker was protecting him.

He traced his fingers over the figures in the picture. It was his favourite. He was the brave knight, of course. Vaughan was one the monsters, the one right in front of the knight that he would hit with the next blow. Take that, Vaughan!

He always did this, every time when someone was mean to him. It helped a lot. But that time was different. His fingers glowed, and for a moment the characters were out of the pictures, standing there on the page of the book, looking so real... He gasped and reached for them, but just before he could touch them, they vanished into thin air.

It was magic. Had to be. But no matter how hard he tried, it didn't happen again. The image remained as it always was. Disappointed, he went to bed.

oOo

In the next few days, it would sometimes happen again, but never when he tried to do it himself. He didn't tell anyone, he was sure Father would say it was inappropriate for a future Bann. Perhaps he would even forbid him to use it. And he didn't want it to stop, he liked it. Maybe he should tell Mother, but what if it made her sad again? He didn't like when Mother was sad. So he kept silent about it.

It was Mother that found out. She came in to check on him and found him out of the bed. His hands were glowing and he tried to hide them behind his back. But she saw it. She wasn't sad. Or angry. Only very scared. She grabbed his hand, and almost dragged him to Erwin's room. He had never been there before, only in the infirmary.

"Save my son," she said. "I'm begging you. Help him. Teach him how to suppress it, how to control it. Please. My husband must not find out. He will kill him if he does."

Erwin smiled. "Do not worry, my lady. I will not allow that happen. But we need to carefully think this over. It won't be simple."

oOo

It wasn't simple. He could only go to Erwin if Father was not in town. Luckily that happened a lot more than before. Uncle said Father was sucking up to Howe. When he asked what Father was sucking, Mother almost choked on her tea. She said it was just saying, that he really didn't suck anything. Uncle smirked and said he wouldn't be so sure and Mother got really mad.

"Mind your language! There is a child here, if you haven't notice!"

Whatever it was Father was doing, it meant he could meet Erwin quite a lot. It meant he had to get up really early in the morning and sneak to one of the empty guest rooms, careful not to be seen. Erwin was usually already there.

It became his favourite hour of a day. Soon he was able to control his magic and do things only when he wanted. He also learned a few basic spells from other schools, like an ice spell and a lightning spell. But he didn't like those much. Those could hurt people. He didn't want to hurt people. He wanted to make them laugh.

Erwin said he was very talented. Of course. Every tutor said that. They all said that he was a genius and had a great future in front of him. Mother was always sad, when they said it. But learning magic was fun, as well. They laughed a lot, the two of them.

For little more than one year, he was happy.

He never found out who ratted on them. One day Father stormed into the Erwin's room, with a crying Mother and shouting Uncle in tow. They were sitting over a textbook on Arcanum. He wasn't even casting a spell. Father grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up from the chair. Mother screamed. It hurt a lot, but he tried to be brave, for her. He smiled.

That was the wrong thing to do.

Father beat him senseless. When Mother and Uncle tried to stop him, he beat them, too. He had never known his Father was this strong.

He was screaming. Mother was screaming. Father was yelling that it was all her fault. That she must bear him another child and Maker save her if it was a worthless piece of trash like this one. Uncle was yelling that he should be sensible. Erwin was also yelling pleas. Father ignored it. He just kept hitting and kicking him. His body hurt and he was angry and desperate and then there was a flash of light -

It took him a moment to realize that it was he who cast the spell.

Father stopped yelling. "Cursed little demon. Attacking your own father, are you? What else did you teach my son, you piece of shit? Is he to kill me first, then his bitch of a mother? Perhaps you hope to get your paws on his heritage? Well, you will not. I will kill you both."

"Father," he said, but Father smacked him across his face.

"I am not your father. I have no son."

There was a short moment of silence, as if Father was surprised by what he said, as well. Then he pulled out his sword. Mother screamed.

He would have died there, if Erwin hadn't pushed him out of the way. The sword hit him the same moment Father was hit by some spell.

"Take the boy and run!"

Uncle grabbed him, carried him out, kicking and screaming. All the servants were now hurrying to see what was going on. Uncle didn't care, ran through the corridors and out to the yard shouting to get his horse ready. He tried to stop him, to explain to him that Erwin needed help. It was useless.

They rode the whole day, stopping only once in a small village where Uncle bought a fresh horse and also something to eat. He refused, saying he was not hungry In the evening they reached another village and spent a night in an inn. It was the ugliest place he had ever seen. He was all itchy when he got up in the morning.

The next few days became all blurred. Later he could never remember any of them. Dull and empty, spent in silent haste.

Then he saw it. The Tower. Tall and magnificent and scary.

"Be a clever boy," said Uncle. "Save yourself a lot of trouble. Don't say who your father is."

"He's not my father." He would never call him 'father' again.

Uncle didn't say anything.

oOo

When the First Enchanter asked him what was his name, he didn't say his real name. It wasn't his any more. His father wanted him dead. He wanted his father dead, too. So he said the only other name he loved.

"My name is Erwin."

The First Enchanter looked at him for a moment. He had very sad eyes. "I see," he said at last.

He never found out what happened to Erwin, whose name he stole. At first he prayed every night that he survived _that__man's_ anger, that he was alive and well. Then one day he understood. That about laughter and knowing you're still yourself. Ever since then he hoped Erwin was dead.

oOo

"My, my. Look who honoured us with his presence tonight! The great Erwin the Lame himself!'

He rolled his eyes. "You know, if it is supposed to be a pun, it shouldn't be that obvious. Try harder, elf."

Daria Birin and he were sworn enemies almost from the first day they met, as opposite as possible. He was a prodigy of the Circle, at least that was what some of his mentors said. He didn't feel special. He just liked to learn. Things that other kids found funny seemed incredibly dull and stupid. Whenever they had to use their brain, they started whining and complaining. There were only a few exceptions, in their little elite group.

Then there was a large group of Averages. They truly excelled in only one thing: avoiding any learning and work. In that, they were unbeatable.

And last group were the Troublemakers. They were not really stupid, they just thought they are above such mundane things as learning.

Both the Averages and Troublemakers were pathetic, he thought. How could anyone think learning was not fun? Honestly, it was the only good thing about the Tower.

Daria Birin was the worst. She despised the 'boring theory' and never bothered to study it. Instead, she always twisted any spell the moment she learned it, combining it with other spells without _any_ prior research. More often than not it ended in a huge explosion or some similar disaster. Worst of all, she was proud about it, called it 'creativity'.

Some people – those easily fooled, he thought – admired her for it. Her mentor even recommended her to be one of the Elites, but most of the other mentors disagreed, because her grades were not that great. Thank the Maker for small mercies.

"Racist."

"Nonsense. The only elf I can't stand is _you_."

"So why did you decide to leave the library and join us commoners, o mighty elite prince of lameness?"

"That's just longer, not better. And I came, because, as you might have perhaps noticed, this is the _dining__hall_."

Several people snickered. She glared at them, trying to find something funny to say, but then she just frowned, turned on her heel and walked away. He should have felt victorious, but he felt oddly embarrassed instead.

"_Women_," he said wisely, causing bursts of laughter from the older apprentices.

He and Daria were both thirteen.

oOo

Something changed that day. Every time they met, she tried a new variation of the word 'lame'. And he would always say it was not good at all. But somehow, it wasn't the same any more. It was more like a game. After a few months, he challenged her. Should she ever come up with really good one, he would take it as his surname. He needed one anyway, he explained. That surprised her.

"Don't you know the name of your parents?"

"No. I forgot it like they forgot me."

She didn't say anything, but from then on her attempts were not so... lame.

oOo

"McLam."

"What?"

"Your name."

"You're serious?"

She was. He thought about it for a while, but what did it matter? It wasn't as if he was ever going outside again. If it made her happy... _Erwin__McLam_. It didn't sound so bad. He could get used to it, after a while. And anyway, no one was going to know, except the two of them. It wouldn't really change anything. He nodded. She smiled. When she smiled, she looked quite pretty.

He found out how wrong he was during dinner. She told _everyone_. From the youngest freshlings to the oldest soon to be Harrowed, every single apprentice knew. He always wondered how he managed to restrain himself from killing her.

"Why did you do that?"

"Because now it's official. Now it really is your name."

oOo

Three years later she was the first girl he kissed. He hoped it was her first kiss as well... but he never found the courage to ask. Some things were better left unasked. Since then they were an item. There was a rare agreement among the apprentices and mentors in the Tower, when the rumour spread: _It__was__about__time_.

oOo

He was going to be late. Good. The less time he would have to spend on that boring lesson the better. Why did Irving insist on him attending these lessons anyway? He was sure that he knew ten times more than most of his mentors. There were so many more interesting things to do than sitting in the classroom and listening to Cimexe. Being with Daria, for example. Or –

He stopped and tilted his head. There was a little boy sitting at the corner, hugging his knees and softly sobbing. And what a weird little boy it was. He was white, first of all. Not just pale. Everyone who lived in this prison was pale. White. And his hair was violet. Really weird. But it had nothing to do with him. The kid had probably argued with his friend and now he thought it would last till the end of their lives.

But just as he wanted to move forward, the boy lifted his face and carefully peeked around the corner. Whatever was there scared him again and he buried his face in his arms, whimpering. What could have been so terrifying there? He peeked as well, but there was nothing special. He looked at the boy thoughtfully and then crouched next to him.

"What is wrong little one?"

The boy looked at him – Maker, what eyes. The biggest and cutest and purpliest eyes he had ever seen. "There are Templars," he whispered, as if 'Templar' was a synonym for 'worst demon'.

He frowned. Greagoir was strict and required absolute discipline from his Templar, but there always were a few fools who thought they could abuse their power over the mages however they liked. However, they usually picked pretty girls. Not little elven weirdos. He peeked around the corner again. He knew those two. Ser Donald and Ser Patrick. They were among the best of the lot, always kind and joking.

"Have they hurt you?"

The boy shook his head. "They did not see me," he said.

Later he could never understand how he could have been so stupid. He should have realized. He should have asked. Instead he acted like a total idiot. "They are really nice guys, you know. Come, I will take you to them and – "

"No!" The boy jumped up. "No, please, ser! Don't give me to Templar!"

"What?"

The tears were rolling from those big eyes and the kid was shaking wildly. He only wanted to calm him, but when he reached his hand, the boy pulled away from him, looking around, like a scared little animal. Of course it attracted the attention of the Templar.

"Hey! You over there! What are you doing?"

The moment the boy realized the Templar saw him, that they were coming over, he bolted in the opposite direction. Ser Donald looked after him, surprised.

"Who was that? Why did he run? What did you do to him?"

"Me? Nothing! He was scared of _you_, if you want to know. Some weird elven kid, with funny violet hair. Never saw him here before."

"Of me?" Ser Donald sounded offended. "Now watch your tongue, brat. I've been serving here for almost twenty years and I've never scared any child."

"Well you scared this one," he snapped, shrugging. "Now if you'll excuse me. I have to go to my lessons."

oOo

During the day he almost forgot all about the weird little guy. Then in the evening, just as he wanted to finally spend some quality time alone with Daria, there was a knock on the door and before he could cast a spell to lock it, it opened. It was a boy he had never seen before, shuffling his feet nervously.

"Hello. I'm Jowan. I am sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he squeaked.

"But you did. I recommend you get lost."

The boy looked as if there was nothing he would like to do more, but he didn't move. "I'm looking for Air."

"I don't know anyone with such a ridiculous name," he said.

"Neither do I," said Daria. "Who is it?"

"Airam was supposed to have his first lesson with Magister Cimexe, and he didn't come back. I am really worried. It's already dark. He will be afraid."

"Don't lie, brat. Magister Cimexe gives lessons only to Elites. And I assure you there was no one of that name in the lesson today. And I'm also sure none of the Elites would be so stupid to be afraid of the dark. Now get lost."

"But he _is_ one of the Elites. Starting today. And I know he went to the lesson. I left him near the herbalism classroom. I couldn't bring him all the way to the classroom, because I would be late for my own lesson, but it's not far from there, is it? Just behind the corner."

Behind the corner... Could it be that kid? One of the Elites? "That... Airam, was it? He's a tiny kid, with violet hair?"

"So you saw him?" Jowan sounded relieved. "Please, where is he?"

"I saw him only in the morning. He was crying in the corner, said he was afraid of the Templar. Poor Ser Donald, it had never happened to him before," he chuckled.

"He was afraid of Ser Donald?" Daria laughed. "That man wouldn't hurt a fly."

"And you're supposed to be clever?" Jowan looked really angry now. "He's afraid of every Templar. He's only been in the Tower for two months. I was there when Templar carried him in, unconscious. I don't know what they did to him, but he had a lot of bruises. I think they beat him."

He exchanged a quick look with Daria. He had never felt more ashamed.

OOo

It took the three of them almost two hours to find him, hiding in a cabinet in one of the empty classrooms, his face and robes all wet with tears. It was good Daria was there, he had never been good with kids. Besides, when little Airam saw him, he almost wet himself. It took a lot of explaining and convincing till the boy believed that Erwin would not give him to the nearest Templar.

"I will not hurt you," he repeated over and over. "And I won't let anyone else hurt you either. I promise. I will protect you. All right?"

The boy just hiccuped and hid behind his friend.

oOo

He meant that promise and he kept it as well as he could. It was the first time he had someone to care after. It wasn't easy to win the trust of the little elf at first. But Jowan trusted him, and for little Airam, his friend was the greatest authority in the Tower, second only to the First Enchanter. Once he truly accepted the fact Erwin was not going to give him to Templar, they became... well, not exactly the friends. There was ten years difference between them, after all. He had no intention to spend his free time playing hide and seek. Once was enough, thank you very much.

But they still spent a lot of time together. He was helping him study, protecting him from bullies, teaching him how to defend himself against teasing. Trying to make him laugh. That turned out to be quite a challenge. It took almost a year.

Only much later he realized he was trying to do what, a lifetime ago, when he was still a future Bann, the real Erwin did for him.

oOo

He was Harrowed shortly after his nineteenth birthday and he got a lot of interesting offers immediately. Had he wanted to leave the Tower, he would be able to do so right the next day. It was a big scandal when he announced he was going to stay in the Tower. Everyone said it was a waste of his talent, a madness, and they were asking Irving to intervene and force him to go. The old man frankly refused to do anything like that, which caused a lot of talk and suspicion. For some time there was even a rumour going through the Tower that he and the First Enchanters were lovers. Hilarious.

The real reason was known to only a few people. It was simple, in fact. The reason he decided to stay was because his _real_ lover was not Harrowed yet. They all knew about Daria, of course. And yet they could not understand it. To throw away such great opportunities to get out of the Tower, to be successful, to be someone just because of a lover was preposterous. At least that was the general opinion. Mages were not supposed to have serious, long-term relationships.

Back then it seemed like a joke.

Daria's Harrowing was only one year later, but by then a lot of people lost interest in him. Many were annoyed, considered him arrogant and too haughty and said he would be a bad assistant. He didn't really care. Especially since Irving told him about the money his parents were putting aside for him shortly after his arrival into the Tower. Of course, it was not because of love. There was a condition: he must never contact any member of his family in any way, direct or indirect, nor reveal his true identity to anyone else.

"They didn't have to do that. You know I've never used that name and I certainly won't start now."

Irving grinned. "Yes, but they did not know that. I might have forgotten to mention it to your father, when he visited me to discuss it."

In the end they stayed in the Tower for four years more than he would once think. Daria worked as a mentor, he was a part of a research team... though it sounded more interesting than it really was. Still, the delay was worth it. Whatever other people thought, they were not wasting time. They were carefully preparing their own project they would do once they get out. Two, in fact – one they would want to truly research and the second that would be their cover story for the Circle and the Chantry. The Tower had the best library in the whole of Ferelden, why not use it while they still could? It would make things much easier once they decide to really start.

The rest of the time they spent 'playing happy family' with Airam and Jowan, as Niall often teased them. Niall was the only one of his peers who also stayed in the Tower. All the others were already gone, and he had no information on how they were doing.

Shortly after he turned twenty-three, almost exactly on the anniversary of his Harrowing, he gave Irving the proposal of the project and the request to leave the tower. It caused another scandal, of course. Especially the mages that never got out were extremely nosy and wanted to know everything, where would they go and what they would do. They were all _so__very__happy_ for them and wishing them all the best. Jealous double-faced fools.

oOo

One person was not happy, however. Airam was crushed when he found out, though he tried hard to seem calm. "So I will never see you and Daria again?"

"Of course you will see us. It won't take much longer and you'll be out. And when you do, I'll be there waiting for you. "

"But that will take years."

"It might seem far away now, but it will be over quickly, you'll see. In the meantime, I'll be writing you letters. All right?"

"You will? Is that allowed?" There was finally a hint of hope in Airam's voice.

"Weeell, no, technically it's not. But I convinced Irving. I can tell you now, I guess – from tomorrow he'll personally supervise your further education."

Airam smiled a little bit, but he could see he didn't fully convince him.

oOo

Being outside after seventeen years was... weird. He had already forgotten what was it like, to feel the warmth of sun on his skin, to hear the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, to smell the soil after a light rain. For Daria, it was totally new. She was one of the 'Circle babies', separated from her parents at birth and moved to Ferelden.

But the weirdest were the people. They were not used to being among people who were not mages or Templar, who were afraid of them. After unpleasant experiences in two villages they went through, where people accused Daria of being an 'elven demon who came to steal their children' they decided to keep out of the villages and settlements. They bought as much supplies as they could... of course, none of them had ever camped in nature before, so they bought a lot of useless things and forgot to take the really important ones. But they were enthusiastic and determined and it didn't seem like such a big deal. After all, they were mages, two of the best in the Tower – what could be so difficult about camping in nature?

It took them almost a month to reach Denerim, sunburned and exhausted. But happy.

They went to the address Irving gave them. It was the house his parents gave him, he explained. He was surprised to see that it was a very nice and comfortable mansion – he expected some plain little house. Daria suggested it was perhaps a sign they still cared about him. He doubted that. For that man, it was probably a question of pride.

Several days later, they were on a walk in the city park when they saw a woman with a young man. Daria nudged him. The young man looked like his younger version. And the woman... He still recognized her. His mother. They all stopped and watched each other in silence, for a moment. The woman looked as if she wanted to say something to him, but didn't find the courage. The young man – his _brother_ – was watching him curiously. Did he even know? He doubted it.

"Come, Amir. We have to go. Father is probably home already."

"Yes, mother."

They moved forward, each their own way.

Since then, they would occasionally see them in the park, nodding briefly in greeting as they walked by. They never spoke together.

oOo

Life outside was so different from what they expected. There were so many things they didn't know. And the more they learned about how it worked the more disappointed they were. Money. Everything seemed to be focused only on that. Some of their friends who had been out for some time already tried to help. Some of the others were jealous of their luck and tried to cause problems.

But he was not a prodigy for nothing.

Soon enough, they knew enough and decided it was time to do something. Together with a few loyal friends they started to support the Mage Collective, helping mages to become more independent. More free. It was half illegal, but the Chantry was aware that if they openly tried to destroy it, they would have to deal with a rebellion of mages. And that would not be good – the situation in the country was not stable. The king had no heir and there were already dissatisfied voices against the Theirin line. Give the nobles reason, _any_ reason, and there would be a civil war. Luckily, the Grand Cleric was intelligent enough to realise it.

It didn't mean there were no consequences. It was clear that he and Daria would never be allowed to have a proper wedding. Daria often said it didn't bother her, but she always looked so sad. And if they ever had a baby, it would be a real problem. The Chantry would do everything to take it away from them immediately after it was born. They made a vow they would never allow that. They had a plan – the moment Daria was sure she was with child, they would leave to Antiva. The Chantry in Antiva was not so strong they would have a better chance to hide.

And so years went on and the tension in Denerim was growing. Soon, something would have to happen. He was sure of it.

oOo

All those years, he was writing letters to Irving and Airam. It wasn't possible to do it often, it would be suspicious. If the Templar found out Airam was in contact with a mage outside, he would be in trouble. But he was obliged to send the First Enchanter regular reports about the progress with his project three times per year. Every time he would put in also a separate letter for Airam, sometimes with a book or a little present.

The replies he got back, from both of them, were optimistic. Airam was definitely the most talented apprentice now, wrote Irving repeatedly. He could be Harrowed now, he wrote when the boy was fifteen. But to send a fifteen year old into the Fade to fight the demons... Irving was right to decide to wait.

And then he got the letter from Irving where he informed him he recommended Airam as a candidate for a Grey Warden and that the Fereldan Commander was coming to see the boy next week. He was _furious_. Yes, Grey Wardens were heroes, great warriors, it was an honour, blah blah blah. But he had never heard of a Grey Warden who had a normal life. Or who died of old age.

oOo

Then they heard of Ostagar.

Daria tried to comfort him. "We don't even know if he was recruited. Perhaps the Commander didn't like him."

"He would be an idiot not to recruit the most talented apprentice."

"And even bigger if he sent a fresh recruit into that battle. Calm down, honey. I'm sure Air is fine."

He wanted to hope... but he didn't dare.

But he knew one thing – the official version that the Teyrn Loghain – now the Regent Loghain – told was a lie. Irving would never cooperate with someone who was not loyal to the Crown. He wasn't the only one with suspicions. Soon a lot of people were openly saying that the Regent killed the King to usurp the throne. There were rumours that the King wanted to divorce the Queen Anora and find and a new wife that would give him an heir. And that the Regent betrayed the King to avoid that, that the Queen Anora was merely a puppet in the Regent's hands. That the Grey Wardens were innocent.

Of course, Loghain said these people were traitors to their country. He was not going to tolerate anyone threatening his beloved Ferelden. Several nobles were arrested. Several others disappeared without a trace.

The civil war that was hanging in the air for years finally started.

oOo

So when Jowan appeared at his door, accompanied with a Templar and told him that Airam was alive and on his way to Denerim, it was the greatest surprise of his life.

Airam was in the battle. But he survived, he and only one other Grey Warden. Who also happened to be the bastard son of the late king Maric. They returned to the Tower to get the support of the mages, just two days after Uldred started his rebellion. Then they went and saved Redcliffe from some weird undead monsters, and when they found out that Arl Eamon was ill, and went to find the legendary Sacred Ashes of the Prophet Andraste. Found them, as well. And right now he was on his way here, though it would take some time, Jowan explained, because he went to get the support of the Dalish, hoping to find them somewhere in the Brecilian Forest.

It all sounded too ridiculous to be true. Only when he heard Jowan's tale and read Irving's letter four times, he was ready to believe it. Irving asked him to help. As if there were any doubts about that! Of course he would help. He started with the preparations immediately.

Daria didn't look as happy as he would expect, however.

"What is wrong, honey? Airam is alive! He's coming here! Aren't you happy?"

"I am," she sighed. "Of course I am. But... I am with child, Erwin."

He stared at her. "I am going to be a father?"

"Yes."

"I am going to be a father! I am going to be a father!"

It took almost half an hour till he was able to stop yelling that, running through the mansion, hugging and kissing everyone he met.

When his brain finally started to work again, he realized why she was so worried. If they left for Antiva, as they agreed so long ago, they won't be able to help Airam. Their young friend would have to face Loghain and the nobles and all the complications of life outside the Tower alone. That didn't sound good and they abandoned that plan immediately. But to stay in Denerim would be too dangerous for Daria and her baby. Especially if they got involved in rebellion against the Regent.

No matter how they thought about it, they saw no solution. It was Jowan who pointed it out.

"Then go to Redcliffe. I am sure the Arlessa will understand and help you protect your child. And Alistair, the other Grey Warden is the future King and he doesn't like the Chantry very much, so I don't think you have to worry about the baby's future, either."

At first Daria wanted to wait for Airam, but their friend, a healer who already had some experience with pregnant women, advised against it. The more they delayed it, the more uncomfortable and dangerous the travel would be. Better to leave as quickly as possible. And so one week later, Daria left for Redcliffe, accompanied by several of his friends. Unless they meet the horde of darkspawn, she should be safe. But still.

It was a strange feeling, to see her leave. To be without her. He had never been without her for more than a few days and they always seemed too long. Now it would be weeks, even moths, before he could leave for Redcliffe as well.

Well then. The sooner they end this nonsense and bring order back into Ferelden, the sooner he would be able to enjoy his fatherhood. Loghain Mac Tir. The Archdemon. Both would soon regret making _him_ their enemy.

* * *

><p><em>AN – few explanations about the first part where Erwin was a child. Growing up as a little noble in the middle ages was not fun at all. The education of started when they were 3 years old and it was very strict. It was not unusual for a child or 4-5 years to be able to read and write and speak several languages. _

_Children younger than 5 were wearing dresses regardless their sex. Around 5 years, the boys were 'breeched' and since then they were dressed the same way as their parents. They looked like miniature adults and they were expected to behave so as well._

_Also, nobles looked suspiciously about any raw fruit or vegetables. The fruit like berries or red currants were consumed only in pies, or in the form of a jam or jelly. Raw things picked from trees or from the ground were only for the poorest. _

_Thanks to **Brelaina** for beta reading this. One day, I will learn where to stick that pesky 'the'. I'm sure of it. But I'm afraid it's still distant future. xD_


	11. Washing

This was originally meant to be a part of the chapter 15 of _Failed to Fail_. In the end I decided to cut it out from the chapter... but I still like it, so here it is as a little fluff. :)

Thanks to **Brelaina** for help and ideas. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Washing<strong>

Zevran hated washing. He was soaked and his fingers were numb with cold, but the damned kettle was finally clean. More or less. He stacked all the bowls and plates and spoons in it. How the other Crows would laugh if they knew – not only he was eating from a _tin__bowl_, he was also acting like some humble elf servant.

But what did he care? He wasn't a Crow any more. And he would not wake up Airam over a few plates, turns and schedules be damned. Not when this was the first time he was sleeping soundly in days.

He chuckled softly when he saw the boy, with his arms wrapped around Rask, face buried in his thick fur. The mabari gave him a very annoyed look when the spoons rattled a bit as he set them down.

"I am sorry, my furry friend, but I have to take him away from you. He can't sleep here for the whole night. I will take him to his tent, yes?"

Rask huffed, but moved away, and he gently pulled Airam up. The boy whimpered slightly and sighed. "I know... dishes... I'll do it, just let me sleep five more minutes..."

"Do not worry about that. Just have a proper rest, yes?"

"Mhmmm. Thanks. You're a pal."

He took him to his tent and helped him change out of his uncomfortable robes. When he wrapped the blankets around him, Airam was already sleeping again. Smiling, he gently kissed him on the brow. Hopefully he would be able to sleep through the whole night without any nightmares.

When he got out of the tent, he found Rask growling – quietly, so he wouldn't wake up his master, the mabari was awesome like that – at the leader of the refugees they saved that day, when they walked right into their battle with a large group of darkspawn. The man was stuttering his apologies for disturbing the Warden and repeated he just wanted to say once again how grateful he and his people were for the Warden's help.

As he should be, Zevran thought. The fools decided to settle down in one of the areas most infested with darkspawn. If they hadn't appeared, none of those people would survive. Even for them, it wasn't an easy battle. After the battle, Wynne, Morrigan and Airam spent hours healing injured. No wonder Airam was so exhausted.

Plus their fearless leader was crazy enough to promise them the protection of the Wardens until they reached some safer place along the coast.

"I just wanted to thank you," repeated the man again and again. "Without you, we would all be dead. If there is anything we can do to repay you..."

As if there was anything such fools could - although - his eyes wandered to the kettle - perhaps –

"Ah, you are quite welcome, my friend. Yes, there is in fact something where we could use some helping hands..."


	12. Opportunity

Written for the CMDA 10 minute challenge.

Thanks to Brelaina for beta reading this.

* * *

><p><strong>Opportunity<strong>

When Giulia came to the nursery room and told them the Matron wanted to see them and pronto, he went obediently. Probably just another client who wanted their service.

There were eleven of children. It was because Lupanare Grande was the biggest brothel in Antiva. They were really lucky to be raised in such great place. It was clean and safe and had no illnesses. They were sheltered and pampered, all just thanks to the Matron's generous heart. They should never forget that and be grateful. The Matron often repeated that. Especially the part about being grateful.

He wasn't. He hated the place with all his might. The rooms with rich decorations, red and crimson and gold, the fluffy cushions, soft beds with silk sheets. The women with cold eyes and toothy smiles. They always widened their eyes, until it seemed they will pop out of their heads.

Once, when he was young, he asked Giulia why they did it and she said it was to make their eyes seem bigger and prettier. It wasn't, it was funny and ugly. But when he said so to Giulia, she slapped him and sent him to bed without dinner. But that was ages ago. He was big now, almost seven, and knew better than to ask silly questions.

Most of all he hated the clients. The touch of their sweaty hands. And smell.

But there was nothing he could do about it. If he refused to go to a client, he would be beaten and left without food. Better to have it done as quickly as possible.

This client was different. The Matron was scared of him, even he could see that. "Children. This is signor Nario. He came to choose the best of you to make you apprentices of the Crows. It is a great opportunity and you should be grate..."

He stopped listening there. He had heard everything he needed already. And he had already made up his mind - he would be among the best.


	13. Lost and Found

For Zev Thread Prompt: Lost - Surely sometime in his many adventures Zevran has managed to get lost. Did he take a wrong turn on the way to a mark? Does his favourite Warden happen to be truly awful with reading maps? Or perhaps, geographical navigation aside, it's Zevran's emotional compass leading him astray…

Thanks to **Brelaina**, for changing my mess into English. :)

This happens on the way to find the Ashes. Airam was conscripted less then 2 months ago, and recruited Zevran only 3 weeks before this. Romance was still in distant future. ;o)

* * *

><p><strong>Lost and Found<strong>

There was a huge rock on the path. It was too big to remove or destroy it. And it was impossible to bypass it. There was a steep slope to their left and the side of the mountain to their right. They could perhaps climb over it... or turn back. But the last branching of the road was three hours ago. _Brasca_. How did that rock get onto the path?

"You aren't going to suggest we climb over this, are you?" asked Alistair.

In his Templar armour, climbing the rock would not be an easy task. No wonder he was reluctant. Sten gave him a disapproving look. His armour was even heavier and more massive than Alistair's, but he remained calm and quiet, waiting for the decision of the little Warden. Alistair got the hint and huffed, annoyed.

"It is strange," said Leliana, who was examining the rock. "It seems like a part of the mountain, as if it always has been there."

"Why would there be a path, then?" Reasoned their little leader. "It has to lead somewhere, right? But we can go back, if you want."

Going back, after three hours of hard climbing didn't sound like a good idea. They didn't even have to discuss it. Alistair sighed and started unlacing his armour and Sten and Leliana did the same. Leliana was the first to try. Sten lifted her up and she managed to reach the top of the rock and pull herself up.

"Whoa! The other side will be a little problem. It's too sheer and smooth, there's nothing to catch on. It will be necessary to rope it down."

The little Warden turned all grey with fear. "Rope it down?"

"But the path! It continues?" He asked, ignoring the Warden's worries for now.

"As far as I can see, yes. There's a turn some one hundred meters forward and I can't see what's there from here."

He followed, waiting on the top for the little Warden. Tying the rope around his waist he tried to explain the basics of how to rope down the rock. The boy looked at him with wide eyes. Oh well. The rock was not so high. Even if he fell down, he would survive. And he would be right next to him to catch him if something happened.

Alistair followed. Sten then tied all their backpacks and things and they pulled it to the other side. Leliana then suggested she and Alistair might help pull up Sten, but the Qunari refused with a resolute 'No'. He then climbed the rock surprisingly easy, holding at the small cracks in the stone. Finally, they were all on the same side and dressed again.

"Phew. That was quite an exercise. Good thing Wynne stayed at Redcliffe, I don't think she would make it," said Alistair. "Well, let's hope we won't have to go back the same way. That would be much more difficult."

He had to agree. From this side, even Sten would have a problem – it was taller, smoother and overhanging. And even if Sten would be able to do it, their little leader would not. He was still shaky after getting down there.

They were finally on their way again… but not for long. Behind the turn, the path continued for another one hundred meters or so – and then vanished. What was in front of them was not just a rock, but a tall side of the hill, steepening to vertical in the middle. The only way to get to the other side – if there even was the other side – would be to fly. They were trapped.

"And now what?" asked Alistair.

"Well, we can not go forward, we can not go back or to the right. The only way leads down there," he said.

They all looked down the slope. It was bare, except for a few low bushes and they could see a tiny line of a path visible deep below them, which gave them a bit hope. And the slope here wasn't so steep. It would be quite dangerous, especially in their armours and with their backpacks, but it was still their best chance. They could do it. Probably. Maybe. It was quickly decided that Leliana would go first to scout the best and easiest way down. Then Alistair would go then him and the little Warden and Sten at the rear.

It was difficult. Even more than he assumed. It probably rained up here yesterday, and the slope was covered in slippery pebbles and roots, that rolled under their feet and threaten to trip them. That could be fatal – if they fell they would probably keep rolling down, just like those pebbles. They followed Leliana, carefully putting their feet exactly on the same spot as her. She warned them about the tricky parts, but it was still difficult and they progressed in silence, fully concentrating on every step. If they weren't all in a good shape, they wouldn't be able to make it.

When they finally got down, they collapsed on the ground, too exhausted both physically and mentally to continue. They looked at the slope. From there it seemed even more impressive and dangerous.

"Wow. We're good," Alistair expressed aloud what they all were thinking.

"It is still strange that path just ended," said Leliana thoughtfully. "Didn't Teagan say the map was quite new, finished only last year? This certainly looks older than one year to me, no?"

He had to agree. "Can I borrow the map for a while, Warden?"

"Sure." The boy took out the map from his pocket and gave it to Zevran. It wasn't difficult to find the last fork and the path that brought them here – but – what – that couldn't be.

"Zevran? Is something wrong?" asked Leliana, when she saw the look on his face.

"Warden. Come here," he ordered in a flat voice. Of course everyone else immediately came and peered over his shoulder. He heard Leliana facepalm herself and Alistair's desperate 'You can't be serious!' Sten, as usual, didn't say anything.

"Can you tell me what you see here, Warden?"

"A path."

"Correct. The path from which we had to climb down this disgusting hill, to be precise. And where does it lead to, if I may ask?"

The path on the map led nowhere. It suddenly ended – at the same place from where they had to climb down. The boy however, seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact and traced his finger over the obvious break and continued smoothly to another path that winded to the top… from the opposite side of the hill.

"There, see?" He asked. And sounded quite serious. "Right to the top."

"Oh? And what about this break, hm? Do you see any path drawn here?"

"But it continues here."

"Indeed. After…" he quickly checked the scale, "approximately five kilometres, yes. So how did you intend to get there?"

"Five kilometres? But it's just a little bit – it's just one centimetre, how could it be that much?" The boy looked completely baffled.

They stared at him in shocked silence. Then Leliana started to giggle. "Airam. You can't read a map?"

"We didn't exactly need them in the Tower," he snapped, irritated.

"But why didn't you just say so? How could you be so irresponsible? We could have all died there!" As always, Alistair's surprise turned into angry yelling.

"So it's all my fault once again, is it? I told you. I told everyone. And nobody gave a damn. It's not fair!"

He did, Zevran realized with a pang of sudden guilt. And he did come to him yesterday evening to discuss their route. But he was busy at the time and when the boy didn't bring it up later he assumed he asked someone else. Judging by the expression of their faces, however, the others did exactly the same thing.

"_Parshaara_. You are the leader, Warden. Next time, don't ask."

The boy looked positively hurt. "But…"

"I think what our big friend is trying to say is that the next time you should simply order us to do so and insist that it is done. Yes?"

"Exactly. You should –"

He didn't let Sten finish. It really wasn't fair to blame only the crazy kid. Everyone, including Sten, knew that he had no martial training. "But it is a lesson for the rest of us as well," he continued, looking directly at the Qunari warrior. "The order might be in the polite form of asking, but it is still an order, yes?"

There was a moment of silence after that. Then Sten nodded and turned away. "We should move on."

"Yes, I think we should try to find some place to set camp. It will be dark soon," added Leliana quickly, apparently relieved that this didn't turn into a big argument.

"I agree. We've already lost our way and a day. No need to lose our supper as well," agreed Alistair with a smile.

They got up to move on, with Leliana and Alistair in front – Leliana in possession of the map now, with the silent agreement of the others. Sten was right behind them, looking lost in thoughts about something.

He wanted to move as well, but the Warden stopped him. "Thanks," he said softly.

"You're welcome," he smiled. Was it just him or was the day suddenly a bit brighter?

* * *

><p>AN: If you thinking now that this is too stupid to be realistic then know that this happened. When I was still in the high school, me and my friends spent half of the summer holidays hiking in the mountains. One year a new kid joined our gang. He had the most professional equipment of all of us, so we assumed he was also experienced. Weeeeell... he wasn't. The hill where it happened is not very high, only something above 1200 m... but it's called _Sharp__ Hill_- and trust me, it is called so for a reason.


	14. Hard Times

Written for Zev Thread's challenge: Lovers

Thanks to my dear **Brelaina** for beta-reading this. Air's fans should know that he appeared in Brelaina's crack story _Two Worlds, One Freedom_. :) It's a story you really shouldn't miss if you like good laugh. :)

And a huge thanks to **Sharem** for her ridiculously awesome Christmas present - Airam's portrait. See it here: _**sharem. deviantart. com/ art/ Failed-to-Fail-Airam-Surana-271707812**_ Isn't he most adorable? :D

* * *

><p><strong>Hard Times<strong>

Ah, poor Fereldans. First they had to accept the fact that their saviour and Hero was not only a mage, but also a knife-ear. Then this... this _creature_ had nerve to put on the throne a bastard child of some servant. And not even a servant in the Royal Palace, but in some Maker-forgotten hole of a city. The new king returned the favour by naming the knife-ear mage an Arl of Amaranthine. How preposterous! But they gritted their teeth and endured it, because he was the bloody Hero and he did save the country after all.

Plus there was this minor issue of an army, who was still loyal to their Captain General and a lot of allies ready to come running at his call, like obedient lapdogs. Foolishness – it wasn't as if he defeated the Blight alone, for the Maker's sake! He had a lot of people who helped him, who were much wiser and more skilled.

It was no secret his army loved him not because his skill, but because he spent a lot of time sneaking into camp with common soldiers, playing comrades. What an utterly cheap and disgusting way to win their loyalty, unworthy of a true Captain General.

But the result was, that when some of the Banns suggested to remove him from this position and to give it to someone more competent, three regiments marched right into the yard of the Royal Palace to protest against it. They smashed three windows and scared two maids and one butler. Worse than a horde of darkspawn. But what could be expected from soldiers serving under such a Captain General? Only the worst. Realising that, they informed the mob that the Hero would remain the commander of the whole Fereldan army as long as he wished.

And of course they didn't miss the fact that the one who alerted lieutenants and soldiers about what they had planned was _him_. The Hero's _lover_. And that was simply too much. Nobody in their right mind could seriously think they would ever accept _that_ creature as one of them.

Not only was he another knife-ear, there were rumours that he was a whore _and_ an assassin. One of the slimiest and most perverted creatures ever allowed in the Royal Palace. One or two of them already hinted to His Majesty that a continued friendship with such suspicious persona might endanger the reputation of the Fereldan Crown. Did the Bastard King listen? Of course not. The fool even warned them that continued disrespect towards any of the Demonslayers would be considered treason. Those were exactly his words.

For a short time, they dared to hope they got rid of both of them. The lecherous lover disappeared on the way to Amaranthine. They only regretted they didn't know who took care of him so they could send him a thank-you note. The Hero brat disappeared a few months later, after almost losing Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep to the darkspawn. Which clearly showed how overestimated these Wardens are. It was pure luck that both the town and the keep survived.

Unfortunately, few months later, they were both back, more arrogant and cocky than ever. Of course the Bastard King immediately decided to waste money on organising a big feast. And now they were visiting the King again, supposedly because of an important matter regarding the Grey Wardens. Nonsense. It was most likely just an excuse for wasting more money. These peasants would never learn how difficult it was to get money from all the unwilling taxpayers.

And the worst thing was that there was nothing they could do about it. They were even expected to treat those two as their _equals._The nerve of it! Yes, the reputation of Ferelden and its nobility had gone to dogs. Wet and smelly as well.

oOo

The heavy oak door slammed behind them. Airam sighed with relief. "Maker, I really pity Alistair. If I had to bear with those fools every day, the castle would be full of ice statues."

"Tsk, tsk. How can you talk like that about the cream of Fereldan nobility? Did you not feel the warm atmosphere?"

Airam snorted. "_Warm_? I'd say hot like in a pool of lava down in the Deep Roads. The only difference is that the Deep Roads are much more fun."

"So true. But do not worry, _amore_. They will soon realize how much they really need us and that our presence in the courts is crucial for their survival."

"It.. is? I mean, of course it _is_. Just remind me how exactly?"

"Well, think of it. What has been the main topic of the Palace gossip these four weeks we've been here?"

"That's easy. The two of us and our scandalous love affair," said Airam, grinning.

He nodded. "Exactly. And before that?"

Airam thought for a while. "I have no idea," he admitted in the end. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Before we came, there was no proper gossips for more than two months. And a court without proper gossip is a sad, dying place. It's the scandals and gossips that get their blue blood pumping and turn red again. It's the reason they keep going, the bright point they look forward to when they wake up every morning! Without it – and that means without us – they would soon turn into depressed, dull puppets. How would they be able to run the country then, hm?"

Airam laughed loudly, forgetting for a moment they were still standing right in front of the door to the Great Hall. Good. His _amore_ was always so frustrated after these meetings. He didn't want that – laughing suited him much better. Laughing made him _irresistible_. Wrapping his arms around Airam's waist he crushed their lips together. It was time to create another gossip anyway.


	15. Cold Blood

**Cold Blood**

His fingers closed over the hilt of a dagger, but he pretended to be asleep. How many are there? How did they manage to get through the window? Who sent them this time? Never mind. He was going to find out soon enough. If the other Masters thought it would be this easy, they were much more naive than he thought. Especially as they obviously sent an apprentice – no full Crow would breathe and move this loud, not when they were about to strike.

"'Tis no use to pretend you're sleeping. I know you're awake and aware of my presence," said a voice in the darkness. A voice he knew, though he hadn't heard it for months.

"What are you doing here, witch?" he snarled angrily as he sat up on the bed.

Morrigan chuckled. With a soft hiss, a small wisp appeared, slowly circling around and casting its eerily green light over the room. "You are not glad to see me, I take it? I cannot see why. I have never done any wrong to you, have I? Were we not... _friends_, once?"

"I thought so once, yes," he spat. "Before you betrayed Airam."

"Before _I_ betrayed Airam? And did he tell you, I wonder, _why_ I betrayed him, as you call it?"

"Do you take me for a fool? Do you think you can convince me that it was his fault? I do not care what he had said or done. You left right before the battle. Do you know what happened there? I will never forgive you for that. So why don't you just tell me what you want and leave, before I kill you?"

"You think _you_ can kill me?"

"You wouldn't be the first mage I killed. One last time, Morrigan, why are you here?"

"There is no need to be hostile. I wish you no harm. In fact, I came to warn you," she said and paused, clearly waiting for his reaction. He said nothing.

"Tell me, Zevran," she continued after a while, with a hint of annoyance in her voice, "do you not find it strange? That you, a terrible and cold blooded assassin, fell in love with a naïve mageling, not particularly handsome or skilled –"

His dagger flew less than a centimeter from her right ear. She laughed.

"I will not allow you to slander him, Morrigan. If this is what you came to tell me, then leave and never return again. Or the next one will go right through your eye."

"You are a fool! Do you not understand that I came to help you? Airam Surana is a blood mage! You do know that at least, I hope?"

"I always knew that, ever since we saved Eamon's boy," he replied with a snort. "Just what is your point, Morrigan?"

"Oh, so you are not completely stupid after all. I am so glad to hear that. Perhaps you still have a chance. Do you know what a thrall, is Zevran? Did your beloved maleficar explained that to you? Or does he prefer to keep you in the darkness?"

"I warned you, Morrigan. One more time and I will kill you. A thrall is a slave of a blood mage, no? So as you can see, he did tell me about thralls. But what does that have to do with anything?"

Morrigan laughed again. The sound sent shivers down his spine. Perhaps he shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have talked to her at all. He should have killed her.

"Foolish assassin. Do you still do not understand? You. Are. His. Thrall. That is the real reason of your love. 'Tis not real love, 'tis just an illusion that Airam created to control you. He knew all too well that he would not get someone like you otherwise. I always wanted to tell you, but he would have killed me. I tried to convince him, at that last night before the battle. If he died while you were enthralled, it would drive you to madness. When he refused to listen, I could not bear it any more and I left."

"Oh, so you left because you were concerned about me? Am I supposed to believe that you cared for someone else other than you?" How utterly ridiculous. And yet... he remembered those days after the battle. The pain... madness... But no. _No_. He would never believe his sweet Air would do something like that. Airam was always a good friend, too good in fact, so caring and trusting...

"Let me guess. You're thinking about what a great friend he was to you? Do not be naïve. He always saw your potential – how many mages can say they have their own pet Crow to do their bidding? When you didn't fall for it as quickly as he expected, he used blood magic. Be honest to yourself, Zevran. Have you truly never wondered how is it possible that you fell in such desperate love with him so quickly? Are not assassins trained to harden their hearts against any feelings? And in only a few months you were able to forget all that and fall in love?"

Morrigan sat down on the bed and leaned forward to him. In the greenish light of the wisp, she looked as if she bathed in venom. _Poison. __Her__ words __are __pure__ poison. __Don't __listen __to__ her. __Trust__ Airam.__ Trust __your__ heart_.

"I am your friend, Zevran," she said and reached her hand out as if she wanted to strike his face. He pulled away with disgust.

"He's coming. He's coming for you, Zevran. He wants to lure you to his trap again. But this time, you are not a helpless slave any more. You can resist. And if he dies now, there will be no pain. Only relief, and freedom. I can promise you that."

She got up from the bed. The wisp vanished and the room was completely dark once again. "You do not have to believe me. You should, however, at least think about it. Before it is too late. He's coming. He'll be here in a few days."

And with that, she was gone, the open window the only proof that she had really been there, that it wasn't all just a dream.

He stayed awake for the rest of the night, trying not to think about her words. But he couldn't. They were too familiar, echoes of his own doubts and fears. Were they true, after all? Could it be possible? Why would Morrigan lie? What would she gain from it? But why would Morrigan care? Why would she warn him? They were friends, yes, but not that close. And if Airam's love was lie, why should her friendship be real?

It didn't make sense. Nothing of it made sense at all.

OOo

The next day he called for one of the Crow mages. He asked if a blood mage could make a thrall fall in love with him. The man didn't hesitate – yes, it was possible. It was one of the easiest ways, he said, to make a thrall fully obedient and caring only about the happiness of his Master.

_Air__ would__ never __do__ such __a__ thing. __He __loves __me,__ he__ proved __it __a __hundred __times._Yes, he proved it... or made him believe so. What if it was all just a cruel manipulation? How would he know? How would he recognize true love from a lie of a maleficar? He knew nothing about a love. Morrigan was right, he was a Crow. He was trained to recognize the lies and manipulation that people used to control those of a weak mind, under the pretense of love. Love is just an illusion.

_I__ always __knew...__** hoped **__it__ wasn't __true_.

And proven wrong again and again. Face it. Nobody would truly love an assassin who tried to kill them. Wasn't it always suspicious, why Airam trusted him so quickly, so easily? He said that he was his friend, after only one week... _In__ the __Fade.__ When __he __saved __me __in__ the __Fade.__ He __saved__ me,__ he __didn't __have __to_... He did, if he wanted to use him. Not that he blamed him – anyone would do the same, if given such an opportunity. Why not? It was normal, to use people and things to one's own advantage. That was how the world worked. That was the reality. Those who were aware of it, were pulling the strings. Those who were not, were puppets. Living in a happy perfect world, where everyone were friends, where people were loving and forgiving, unaware that it was all an illusion.

He didn't want to believe it. He tried to convince himself it was not true, that what was between him and Airam was real. But the more he thought about it, the less sure he was. It couldn't be real. He was trained not to be a puppet of emotions, he would not have failed so easily, so completely. Not without something else to help it. Something like blood magic.

The idea nauseated him. How blind he was! Now that he was aware of the trick it was easy to see the proofs in every memory, in every moment. He almost regretted that he knew now. Now that he knew, there was no way back. He was a Crow – he was the _Guildmaster_. No blood mage would make _him_ a thrall. Never again.

oOo

He watched Airam, as he followed the Crow he sent to the port to watch for the ship of the Hero of Ferelden. Unsuspecting, smiling, as if the headquarters of the Guild of the Crows was a lovely rose garden. As if there was nothing to be afraid of. Was he so sure his foul spell still worked? He shivered. So young and adorable, with hair falling to his shoulders – _he__ hadn't__ cut __it __for__ more __than __a __year, __because __I __liked __it_ – but that didn't mean anything. That was just another part of his clever trap. Just look at him, chatting with the Crow guide, laughing happily. Nobody would ever suspect he was a maleficar. Another proof that one should never let a pretty face fool him.

The guide and Airam entered the building. He remained at the balcony for a moment longer, thinking of what he was about to do. It nauseated him. But it was necessary. _I__ must __not __submit __to __the __pity, __no __matter__ what __happens_. He had to be strong. It would hurt, yes, but only because of the spell. It was not real love he felt, he reminded himself. And he was not going to let Airam make him a thrall him again. Soon, all of this would stop, all this love and pain and confusion. Soon, he would be free again.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and forced his body to move, step by step, out from the balcony, through his bedroom, the corridor, turned left, downstairs, to the hall... to his doom, it felt. _Stop shaking. Smile. Do not let him realize something's wrong. It will be over soon_.

oOo

"Zevran!"

Airam threw himself at him and pressed their lips together. A few days ago, he would have given everything for this moment, to hold this boy in his arms again, to kiss him. Now it made him sick and he couldn't force himself to kiss him back. Airam didn't notice. Of course he didn't notice – he couldn't know that Morrigan thwarted his plans.

"You really are here, you're alive! I was so worried, I thought you were dead, why didn't you let me know you were all right, you could have at least written a letter, I was so afraid, what would I do without you?"

Airam wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his head in the crook of his neck. He could feel Airam's heart beating and for a second, he hesitated. _It__ wasn't __so __bad__ after __all__ – __I__ could __be__ happy_ – no. No, he reminded himself again, it was all a lie. He must not give him a chance to cast that spell again.

At his sign, one of the Crows let in the big group of Templar that were waiting patiently in the next room, and then quietly all the Crows left. He did not want them there. This was going to be difficult enough without their cynical smirks. His heart skipped a beat. _I__ don't __have__ to __do __this. __I__ could __kill __him __myself.__ This __is__ too__ cruel.__ I__ can't._ What he did was also cruel. He kept him as his pet for a whole year. He would do it again, if he had the chance. No. No turning back now.

"Zev? What's wrong? You're so quiet and tense. Are you all right?" Airam lifted his head and looked at him, finally starting to realize not everything was as he wanted.

He laughed coldly. "Why yes, I am. Everything is fine now that I have you in my hands... my little maleficar."

"What?" Airam pulled away and looked at him, pretending not to understand.

"You do not need to continue this farce, Airam. I know your game. I know what you did and why you came here."

"My _game_? I don't understand. I came because I love you, because I want to be with you, forever. I thought... I thought you wanted the same."

"These lies will not help you any more. I will not fall into the same trap twice! It ends here. You will never enthrall me again."

Airam stared at him, speechless. Good, so he finally decided to stop with the lies. He gave the sign to the Templar, and they moved forward. At the sound of their steps, Airam whirled around and his eyes widened in horror when he finally understood. He tried to feel triumphant... but he felt only cold dread.

Airam moved to him again, but he stepped back. The boy winced as if he hit him. "Zev, what is this about? Is this supposed to be a joke? If so, I'm afraid I don't get it. If... if you don't want to – then just say it. If you want to break it, I will leave, I... but why? At least tell me why, Zevran!"

"Break it? _Leave_? You're not going anywhere, _maleficar_." He laughed again. "I know your lies. I was warned by a friend... and now I'm aware. Your blood magic is not working any more. You made me your thrall, turned me into a mindless puppet! Or is that not reason enough for you? Do you really think I will let you walk away, after all that?"

"How can you say that?" whispered Airam, his eyes full of tears. Nice try, but it would not work on him, ever again. "Me, making you a slave? Have you forgotten everything...? Or is this because you're a Guildmaster now and need to get rid of me, of your failed contract?"

"I didn't think you were such a coward, to deny it even when it's clear it's over. But I didn't think you were a maleficar either, no? What a fool I was. I'm sure you were laughing at me all the time. Well, no use to linger on the past. You die here, and I will be free from your magic once and for all."

Airam shook his head. "You can't really believe that. Zevran – look at me, damn you! Tell me this is not true!"

It was useless to continue. "Take him," he said and the Templar moved forward immediately. Two of them grabbed Airam's arms, several others used smite on him, to be sure he had no energy left. Airam bent over in pain. If the two Templar were not holding him, he would have fallen down to the floor. "Make sure he doesn't survive."

"Templar?" Airam looked up at him. "You hate me _that_ much?"

His throat tightened and he could not answer immediately. _Did_ he hate him so much? After it was all over, after Airam was dead and he was fully free from the spell, would he be able to see it as justice, as something that the boy deserved? He knew about Airam's past... but how could he be sure that was not a lie as well?

"Yes," he whispered at last in a shaky voice. "It's all that maleficar deserves."

The look on Airam's face would haunt him till the rest of his life, maleficar or not. He turned away and the Templar pulled Airam, dragging him toward the room they were in before.

"Wait," said Airam weakly. "Wait... _please_, Zevran."

It was a foolish thing to do, but he nodded anyway. Perhaps it was still the spell on him. The Templar grumbled something, but obediently let him go. Airam staggered a bit and almost fell, before he found his balance again. He had to clench his fists to suppress the urge to help him. Instead he watched calmly while Airam shuffled his legs until he was in front of him again. He expected the boy to try to use blood magic – smite did not work on blood magic, even he knew that. Instead, the boy reached to his ear.

_No.__ Don't__ do __that_, he wanted to scream, but he kept silent. His hand was trembling when Airam pressed the earring into it.

"I think I should return this," he grinned, his eyes full of tears again. "I don't think you want me to have it any more."

Airam lifted his hand, as if he wanted to touch his tattoo, but he turned away. The Templar grabbed Airam again, and he didn't resist at all, following them like a lamb being led to the slaughter. It was too much.

"Why don't you resist?" he shouted. "I know how powerful you are. A few Templar cannot be a problem for you!"

Airam stopped and the Templar hesitated. Some of them pulled their swords. But Airam did not attack them. "What for?" he asked, without turning back. "You want me dead. Be free, then."

_Would __a __maleficar __really __do __this? __It's__ not __too __late __yet.__ I can s__till s__top __it_. He closed his eyes. No. This was just a last-minute attempt to win his pity. Airam probably thought he wouldn't be able to stand this, that he would break and save him. Well, he was going to find out how wrong he was, no? He gave a nod to the Templar and they finally led the boy to the other room.

If at least they could take him away, to the Templar prison! But Airam was the Hero of Ferelden and the fewer people knew what was going on, the smaller the chance that he would be rescued. So it had to be here. In the next room. Originally he planned to leave and not to come back until it was all done, but now he found out he couldn't move. He did it. He really did it. He gave Airam to the Templar.

oOo

"Zevran! _Zevran_!"

A sound of hit.

"I told you to be quiet! Shut him up, guys, I can't go on when the little bitch screams like that."

It took all his strength not to rush in there and not to kill all those bastards that were hurting his Airam. He had to remind himself again and again that it was a lie, that he didn't really care. It was blood magic. When Airam was finally dead, all this pain would be over. Only relief and freedom, that was what Morrigan said. What she _promised_.

But to hear it – screams and sobs and pleading, followed only by more hits, Templar crude jokes and curses, their disgusting groans – if it took much longer, he would not be able to stand it. _I __should __have __killed __him __myself. __He __doesn't __deserve __this. __Even __if __he __enthralled __me... __he __was __never __cruel __to __me_. But was the spell itself not cruel? This – this was only a short time of physical pain. What Airam did, was much worse. No, he would resist. He would see this till the end.

And then it stopped.

He entered the room. The Templar were putting on their armours, gossiping about trivialities, as if what happened was a normal, everyday thing. Perhaps it was, for them.

"Is he dead?" he asked, trying to look everywhere but at Airam.

"Almost, _signor_. But do not worry, we will finish him immediately," said one of the Templar.

"It's a pity we can't keep him though," said another one. "He'd make a great whore, after some training."

"Get out," he growled, "I'll finish him myself, just get out of here!"

The Templar exchanged looks and quickly collected their things. "We did only what you asked for," said one of them as they were leaving. "And you still didn't pay us."

"You'll get your money. Just get lost."

Only when they were finally gone, he dared to look on the lifeless bloodied mass on the floor that used to be his crazy little Warden. His beautiful white body covered in blood and dirt, face swollen from the hits. He saw him once like this already. In Front Drakon. Back then, he swore revenge to everyone who dared to touch him. Now he paid them to do it.

He sat next to Airam, gently put his head in his lap. Airam whimpered a little. "No," he sobbed. "Mercy..."

"No," he said quietly, "no more."

"Zevvie?" Airam's voice was full of hope. "... stay... beg you..."

Those words finally broke him and he cried like a little child. Airam really loved him. And he destroyed him, he hurt him more than he would hurt his worst enemy.

"I... never..." Airam tried to lift his hand, but was too weak even for that.

"I know," he said lifting Airam's hand and kissing it. It smelled and tasted of other men and he hated himself more than ever for what he had done.

"You shouldn't have trusted me. You should have killed me," he sobbed, but there was no reply.

Airam was dead.

He killed him.

If someone pulled his heart out of his chest, it wouldn't hurt this much.

He sat there for hours, cradling Airam's body in his arms, crying until he had no more tears, only dimly aware of the Crows that occasionally peeked inside. Only when the darkness fell and he couldn't see Airam's face, he got up, lifted Airam's body and carried him to his bedroom. There he carefully washed his body and hair and dressed him up again. Then he took the earring from this pocket and placed it back in Airam's ear.

"It is yours, _amore_. Only yours."

He climbed on the bed with Airam, and held him in his arms again. "This time I will stay. I promise."

He did not care what would happen to him any more. He would have killed himself, but he didn't deserve such a quick death. For what he had done he deserved to suffer, here and Beyond. The Crows were already whispering that the new Guildmaster had gone crazy. It would not take long before they decided to get rid of him. He only hoped it would hurt.

oOo

"Zevran. _Zevran_!"

He woke up with a start. Airam was calling him. He must go, he must save him –

"Where are you going, Zevvie? Come back to me." A pair of arms wrapped around his chest, holding him tight. Airam's arms. Airam's voice. But that cannot be. Airam was dead. He killed him.

"Forgive me," he sobbed. "I am sorry I killed you. You should have killed me. Why didn't you kill me?"

"It was just a dream, love. Just a dream. It's all right now. It's all right. I am alive. You didn't kill me. Calm down."

It took him some time to believe it, to realize where they were – this was not Antiva, this was Vigil's Keep. He had not been in Antiva for two... no, for three years. Which meant Airam was right – it was all just a dream. He didn't give Airam to the Templar after all. Even so... it proved that he could not be trusted, that if something happened, he would betray him. It was not safe for Airam to stay with him. He should warn him, he should leave him. But only thinking about life without his _amore_ caused that pain again.

Of course, Airam noticed. He had never been able to fool him. Word by word, Airam forced him to retell the dream. But he didn't seem worried at all, no matter how much he tried to convince him. "Nonsense. It was a _dream,_ Zev. If it proves anything, then it's that you should really start reading more. If you knew what thralls really are, you would never believe it, dream or not," he said, laughing.

"I sometimes forget how crazy you are," he sighed.

"You're one to tell me that, silly assassin. Tell me, after everything we've been through, how can you still doubt you love me?"

He had to explain, he had to make Airam see the truth, or one day it would be really too late. "But – don't you see, what if -"

Airam raised his finger warningly. "Shut up, Zev. No damned if. 'Ifs' are forbidden. Do you trust me?"

"Yes. I do. But -" _that's __not __the __point, _he wanted to say, but Airam cut in again.

"No buts. 'Buts' are forbidden as well. If you trust me, then trust me also in this. If you weren't here, with me, supporting me all the time and giving me strength... If I didn't feel your love – no, don't you dare argue with me on that! If I say I feel it, then I feel it! - As I was saying. If I didn't feel it, I wouldn't have a reason to live any more. That's about the only thing you got right in that dream of yours."

He couldn't help smiling. "Still -"

"Continue like that and your vocabulary will become very limited," snapped Airam. "If you can't trust yourself, then trust me that I trust that you love me." He chuckled. "A bit complicated, I know, but you have the rest of the night to figure it out."

"I might have a better idea how to spend the rest of the night..." he said, desperately wanting to touch and kiss and worship every bit of Airam's body.

Airam quirked his brow at him. "Do you, now? And when will you think about what I said, hm?"

"There will be time," he said. "We have a whole lifetime together still before us, no?"

"Hmm... In that case, you will have to elaborate on that idea..."

* * *

><p><em>AN What? You didn't really think I would do this to my crazy kid, did you? ;o) This was the idea of my BFF. Thanks to Epiphany sola Gratia and Eva Galana for giving me an idea how to turn it into fluff. :D_

_And huge thanks to Brelaina, for beta reading this._


	16. Team Zevran

To those waiting for the next chapter of Failed to Fail: It's on the way. Please be patient for a little longer. In the meantime, have this little bit of silliness (totally AU to the rest of the stories). Written as 100-word drabbles.

Thanks to Reyavie and Seika for support and supply of silly ideas. XD

* * *

><p><strong>Gotta Find 'Em All! <strong>

Zevran watched playing children with amused smile.

"You'd be a great father, you know." Airam sat down next to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said stiffly. This wasn't something he wanted to discuss.

"And with your history? I bet you already have children. A dozen, at least."

He didn't reply, hoping that Airam will get the hint and drop the subject. But no.

"So I was thinking… why don't we find them and take care of them?"

"Hahaha… Wait, you're _serious_?"

"Of course!" Airam beamed. "It will be our new main quest: Gotta find 'em all!"

* * *

><p><strong>Zevran's Song<strong>

I want to be the best daddy,

Like no one ever was.

To find them is my real test,

To train them is my cause.

I will travel across the land,

Searching far and wide.

Each Junior to understand

The power that's inside

(Gotta find 'em all)

It's you and me

I know it's our destiny

Every challenge along the way

with courage I will face

I will fight Crows everyday

to claim their rightful place

Come with me the time is right

there's no better team

arm and arm we'll win the fight

Its always been our dream.

Arainai!

* * *

><p><strong>Maker's Blessing<strong>

It was a crazy idea, but he couldn't help getting thrilled… and anxious, yes. "But how will we find them?"

"You said most Antivans have dark eyes and hair. We'll start by searching for kids with golden hair and amber eyes."

oOo

"Yes, signor, I know about them kids. You came to solve the mystery?"

They stared at the innkeeper, surprised. "What mystery?"

"See such hair and eyes were pretty rare, in Antiva. Then ten or so years ago, there was a boom of such kids. Chantry said 'twas sign of the Maker's blessing. But two years ago, it suddenly stopped…"

* * *

><p><strong>Proud Father<strong>

Airam gulped nervously. 'That… is… ridiculous," he said warily.

"Awesomely so," Zevran agreed, trying to sound repentantly, but couldn't quite suppress the pride in his voice. Airam shot him a dirty look and he quickly dropped his eyes. It wasn't his fault, no? Best lover in Antiva and all that?

"So you are going to take them with you?" asked the Revered Mother responsible for children.

"Um… Ah… I'm afraid…"

He glared at Airam incredulously. "You can't leave them here!"

"What am I supposed to do, found the Order of Golden Haired Antivans?"

"They're _my __children_!"

"Yes, but… _thirty-seven_, Zevran!"

* * *

><p><strong>Rules<strong>

They seemed such nice children in the Chantry. Playing quietly all together, like one big, happy family. So he convinced Air to take all of them. Alistair would help them with the Order – eh, with the costs.

But the moment they boarded the ship, the little angels turned into one big demolishing squad. Good thing Air was here to help him.

"Quiet, now! There will be order here! Now, remember – there are three basic rules. First: no stupid questions about my hair. Second: do _not_ come near to my books! And third: If you want something, ask your Daddy."

… Traitor.

* * *

><p><strong>Family<strong>

It wasn't so bad, he decided. The sailors taught the bigger ones a ball game. Kids were happy they could kick something as much as they pleased, and stopped demolishing the ship.

Air took mercy with him and helped him with the little ones. They were so cute! Especially asleep.

Still, this was not going to be easy.

"Don't worry, Zev. We'll make it. Thirty-seven little Zevrans, that's thirty-seven people as happy as I am." Air hugged him. "Besides, we're all Arainais here! And that means – "

"We, are ridiculously awesome!" cheered kids.

No, it wasn't bad at all.


	17. Team Alistair

A little sequel to Team Zevran - because Alistair needs some love, too! xD 37 golden-haired kids set loose in the Denerim Palace to spend some time with their uncle Alistair. :)

Thanks to Suilven for giving me the idea. :D

* * *

><p><strong>Royal Welcome<strong>

Alistair was grinning madly as he watched the ship coming nearer. Air was standing on the prow of the ship, waving.

He was of course informed about their new 'main quest'. Two weeks ago he got an enigmatic note from Air: "Success. Exceeds expectations. Leaving for Denerim tomorrow. See you in two weeks."

The ship anchored. "File by two and remember what we practiced," he heard Airam say, sternly.

_File by two? Just how many -_

A long queue of mini-Zevs spilled out of the ship.

His jaw dropped.

"Say hello to your uncle, children!"

Kids smiled. "Hello, Uncle King!"

* * *

><p><strong>Dearest Uncle<strong>

"Thir-thirty-thirty –"

"Seven, yes." Zevran nodded proudly. "What about you, my friend? They could use some cousins, you know."

Alistair rolled his eyes. "I'm not married yet, Zevran."

"Neither am I, no? As you can see, it's not a problem. Besides, aren't you the proof how handy it is to have a bastard prince in reserve in case the things go awry?"

"Very funny. – Yes, darling, what is it?" One of little Zevrannas was listening with great interest.

"Uncle Al, you're not married?" she asked sweetly.

"No... Why?"

The little girl turned to her sisters. "He's SINGLE!" she shouted triumphantly.

* * *

><p><strong>Chantry Influence<strong>

Having thirty-seven Zevs around was bad enough. But those girls… Everywhere he turned, there was at least two of them. Ogling him. Giggling. Fighting which one will marry him. It was _scary_.

He tried to point out to Zev that this wasn't proper behaviour for eight-year old.

Zevran shrugged. "They were raised by the Chantry. _You know _how bad influence that is."

"And you _are _an attractive man, Al," added Air. "If I was a naïve little girl, I would also ogle you."

"That's… disturbing, you know."

"Mmm… I have to agree with Air." Zev batted his eyelashes.

Alistair fled.

* * *

><p><strong>Afterwards<strong>

Alistair was sure he would be relieved once all the kids were gone and everything was back to normal.

But… it was quiet. Too quiet.

Nobody called him "Uncle King". He missed that. Nobody asked him to play soccer. Nobody gasped admiringly and pretended fainting when he entered the room… all right, _that_ was one of the things he _didn't_ miss.

It was so empty it hurt.

T_hey could have left one here_, he though gloomily. _They'd still have enough left for themselves._

Teagan watched him with a knowing smile. "Shall I invite few candidates for the Queen?"

He nodded.


	18. Letter from Zevran

So. After almost a year writing his story, after all that trouble, I received this letter from Zevran. The words in brackets were crossed in the original, but I managed to decipher them.

* * *

><p>My dearest Lucia,<p>

I understand why you decided to write a story about me. Who better than a dashing and ridiculously awesome assassin, known for his prowess all across Thedas, yes? I was surprised to find out that you are surprised by its success. It is about _me, _so it could not fail.

I do, however, have a few objections. You may want to consider them carefully. It would bring (me) your story about me even more admirers.

For example, the point of view. I am born to be admired and ravished by the Warden, not the other way round. Surely even you must realize such simple fact, yes? And do you really think it is such a good idea to reveal my thoughts to everyone? I _am _an assassin, after all. I suggest changing it to Airam's point of view. That way (I would finally know for sure how he feels about me) we could probably skip right to some action.

In fact, _any _kind of action would be more than welcome. I am sure more readers would like to see me covered in sweat, passionate an determined to (pleasure) protect my little Warden. Much more than to read about my thoughts and emotions. It is the basic rule, no? Show, not tell? Do that and we will all be much happier. Of that I'm certain.

It would be also good to keep things realistic. It pains me to say that, but some of your stories are ridiculous. Like the story about my children. I might be the best lover in Antiva, but I believe thirty seven children are a bit too much. It seems as if I never did anything else than producing children. Not that I would be against it, but I _did _have a job, if I may remind you. And a rather difficult one for that. Or the story about that gross trick on Fade Night - I think you call it Halloween in your world, yes? I assure you that _I did not faint_. Those are all slanders and lies! I strongly recommend to rewrite it.

I also have a favour to ask. I would like to send special Crow regards to people who told you it is good to hurt your characters. Could you please send me their names? Especially the one who came with the idea of a nightmare where I give my Airam to Templars. Nicknames are also fine, do not worry about that. I am sure I will be able to track them down.

In future, do _not _listen to such stupid advices. It is dangerous. I would hate if something bad happened to you. Which reminds me. I heard that you intend to force Air to make an ultimate sacrifice. Allow me to say this - it would be very unwise. Trust me, it would hurt you. So much, in fact, that it could kill you. Such tragedy would that be! Better avoid that, no?

Well then. I think it is all for now. Allow me to say again that I know why you wish to write about me and that I'm not against it. Just follow my advices and you'll be fine.

Your beloved assassin,

Zevran Arainai


	19. Letter from Airam

Apparently Zevran has bad influence on Airam. I got this "lovely" letter today. Again, the brackets are what the cheeky brat tried to cross out (who's he calling an older lady?) and all grammar errors and typos belong to him, not to me. :P

* * *

><p>Dear Lucia,<p>

Zev tells me he wrote you a letter with few suggestions how to improve the story about us and that he's sure you'll consider it. So I decided to add few as well, if you don't mind.

I don't know why you had to create me looking (like a freak) so different than all the others. White skin, purple eyes and dark violet hair? _Really_? Why didn't you just draw a target and pinned it on my back? Let me guess – purple is your favourite colour, isn't it? Not only it makes my life miserable, it's also considered poor writing – wish fulfilment, self-insert, etc. (Maker forbid I would find out I'm a self insert of an older lady!)

And I'm sure you noticed (how good I looked) how useful it was when I was masked in Denerim. Why don't you write me learning some spell that would change my appearance (to something more manly)?

Another thing. Please do not write about… intimate matters any more, all right? It's embarrassing and besides what kind of sick perverts you think your readers are? Nobody likes to read about other people being hysterical or about failed sex. Or about successful sex. That's something that should remain private… wait. All right, I'm back. Had to (freeze) cool down Zev a bit, he was peeking over my shoulder and blabbering a vulgar quote about codpiece from Rose of Orlais… wait. Had to calm down Alistair, too – he tried to peek over my shoulder, snickering and asking how did I know from where the quote was.

Where was I… aha. The intimate matters. No more sex and no more embarrassing scenes. That includes the silly nicknames Zev gives me. Just because I'm not of age yet, I'm not a kid? When he calls me 'a kid', 'the little Warden', 'boy', or 'the little leader', it ruins my image and authority. I am a Commander of Grey, not some adorable puppy-eyed kid!

And same goes for Anders. Would you _please_ tell him to stop talking about my ears? Can't you make him fall for Oghren's beard instead? I'm sure that would be much more original and that your readers would love it!

I also heard you want me to sleep with Morrigan. I have only two words to that: FORGET IT. Not going to happen. I like Morrigan as a friend. But she and I... doing _that_… ugh. _No_. I'm warning you – I'll rather throw myself on Archdemon. I have no idea why would you want to write something like that, but you'll have to find some other fool to do it. Just thought I'd warn you so you won't be surprised later.

Need to go now. (The freeze spells will stop) (Those two fools will melt down) It will get noisy around here in a while, and I hate noise.

Please consider what I said. And please write faster.

Yours Sincerely,

Airam Surana

Commander of the Grey


	20. Not a Friend

Big thanks to **Seika** for her help and suggestions. :)

(You may want to reread chapter 1 - this story is a sort of sequel to the first scene in the story Cast Your Burden on Me Tonight.)

* * *

><p><strong>Not a Friend<strong>

"Very good, Zevran." Master Xavier playfully stroke his cheek. "I am very pleased with you; you may have the morning to yourself. I expect you back at the training yard after lunch. Also, starting tonight, you will sleep in the quarter with my apprentices."

"Yes, Master. Thank you for your kindness, Master," he replied, forcing himself to smile a little.

Master Xavier chuckled. "Go now. We will have a lot more fun tonight."

He got up, and dressed as quickly as he could without looking disrespectful. It hurt to walk, but he did his best to not let it show on his face. Master Xavier didn't tolerate any weakness from his apprentices. With a final bow he left the room, holding his head up, with smile on his face, through the Masters' quarters and the training yard, until he finally reached the barracks for apprentices. He was aware of his fellow apprentices watching him, he heard someone shouting a crude joke after him, but he ignored it all. All he wanted was to clean himself, and then sleep until training that afternoon.

Maybe if he slept, he wouldn't see the pleading eyes of the man whose throat he slit. Or think about the night that followed. He knew he would have to get used to it very quickly. Now that Master Xavier claimed him as his apprentice, and started the second part of his training, both things would happen regularly. But he wanted to forget. At least for a while.

The _allenatore_ somehow already knew that he was allowed a free morning, and let him in the hall without question. He looked at the empty sleeping hall, straw cots and dirty blankets reeking of sweat, blood and piss. It was just the same as when he first came there. _Six years_. It felt like sixty. Nobody believed he would survive, they said he was too stubborn and too proud. But he did, _because_ he was too stubborn and proud. He was going to be the best Crow there was. And now he was one step closer to that goal. He had killed his first man. And yet, he didn't feel like celebrating; he felt dirty and tired.

There was enough water in the barrels for strip washing. It was cold, but that didn't matter. He started to undress again, when he heard door open. He tensed, but then relaxed as he heard the familiar voice.

"I saw you coming. I brought some soap, if you want."

He didn't answer; he only took the soap, and started to wash himself.

"Well? What was it like?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped. He didn't want to think about it; he was managing it quite well before this little fool came.

"Come on, Zev. Would it kill you to tell me?"

He spun around and glared at the younger boy. Taliesen dropped his eyes.

Taliesen was two years younger than him; his parents sold him to the Crows when he was eight. Zevran once heard their _allenatores _say that it was almost too late, that the Taliesen was too old to start the training. But just like him, the little human was too stubborn and proud to admit defeat and worked hard. Zevran liked that.

By the time Taliesen arrived, he had already been an apprentice for three years, and original doubts of his _allenatores_ were long forgotten. He was one of the best, and the little human was clever enough to realize it. Soon, the two of them had established a sort of business relationship;Taliesen performed small tasks for him, like washing his clothes, and in turn, he protected the younger boys from bullies, or showed Taliesen a few advanced tips that kept him at the top of his training group. The _allenatores_ knew about it, of course, but as it was clearly business, they did not mind.

So it was hardly surprising that Taliesen was here now.

"I just want to know –" Taliesen tried again.

He balled his fists. "About what? Killing or fucking?"

"Why are you so angry? I thought you'd be proud. I know I would –"

"_Proud_? You're an idiot! That guy was so weak he couldn't even get up! Do you think they would allow me to do it otherwise – that they would give him an actual chance to escape? There's nothing to be proud about! Nothing!"

He could see that Taliesen didn't believe him. The fool probably thought he just didn't want to say it, or didn't want to help him. The suspicion hurt. _We're not friends. We're just allies. Who cares what he thinks about me?_

"Fine," Taliesen muttered. "Fine! You think you're so smart, don't you, now that you're assigned to Master Xavier. Big deal! Maybe the guy you killed was a weakling, maybe the Masters didn't trust your skill enough! You're just a _knife-ear_, after all. But mine will not be weak. And I'll do it earlier. I'm already almost as big as you. I bet they'll let me do it next year!"

_Why should I care what happens to the fool? We're __**not**__ friends. Maybe he __**will **__like it_. _But..._ He watched Taliesen walk away, and a cold dread filled him.

"You're still such a baby," he shouted after him mockingly. "You think you will impress anyone if you do it earlier than me? They will just laugh at you!"

Taliesen stopped. "I'm going to be the best apprentice ever. Why would they laugh?"

"Listen to me, Tal. It's…," he hesitated, unsure how to describe it. Master Xavier did not hurt him, and his body... reacted. But what he did was still disgusting. "It's nicer when you're older," he finished lamely. He could see that Taliesen wasn't buying it. "I overheard Mario once."

The name of the most sympathetic _allenatore_ finally got Taliesen's full attention. Mario was the only one who cared if they lived or died. It was not that he loved them, of course, he simply hated when his efforts were wasted.

"He was complaining when Master Rocco claimed one of the girls, you didn't know her, it was before you came. Mario was angry; he said that Master Rocco was ruining his work, that the girl was too young and that it's a waste of a promising apprentice. And he was right, Tal – she was dead within a year. Why do you think I waited till now? I deliberately pretended not to be the very best, so I could delay it."

It was a lie, of course. Only Masters decided when the apprentice started the second part of their training. But it seemed to finally convince the little fool. And it would stop him from doing anything stupid, like provoking the Masters, or to asking them to give him a really strong opponent. Masters would do it, for fun. And then they'd make others apprentices watch him die, as a warning. It wouldn't be the first time. He and Taliesen were not friends, but he didn't want to be responsible for Taliesen's death.

"All right, I'll wait," Taliesen said, after thinking it over for a while. "Thanks for telling me."

Zevran smiled. "But if they find out you're slacking from your training, you'll be dead before tomorrow morning, no? You better run now."

"Yeah. Good luck, Zev. Take care."

_Luck has nothing to do with it_, he thought bitterly, when Taliesen ran away and he could finally clean himself. _But maybe we'll survive_.


	21. Heavy Glow

Thanks to **Seika** for beta reading this and for the title. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Heavy Glow<strong>

"Zevran? Morrigan sends these – oh." Airam looked around the empty tent. Where could that silly assassin be, this late at night? Disappointed, he put the herbs that Morrigan thought Zevran could find useful on the bedroll, and turned to leave. He _should_ leave. He had no business here without Zevran. Of course, Zevran probably wouldn't mind, but still... it was rude. He would only look around, not touch anything. It was still trespassing. Who knew when he would have such opportunity again?

With that, he looked around. Zevran's tent always seemed bigger than his own. And much neater. There were no books, or potions, or different parts of robes or armour leisurely thrown around. In fact, there was merely a bedroll, and a backpack standing next to it. The temptation to peek into it was huge, but he heroically resisted. That would be rude. He wouldn't like if someone rummaged through his _own_ things, after all. Eh. How boring. One would expect more from the tent of an – wait, what was that?

There was something under the pillow. Something that looked suspiciously like a book. Zevran, reading a book? And _he_ didn't know about it? Now that was suspicious. He had to check that, right? Well then. What kind of book was it? Knowing Zevran, probably a dirty one. That would be good, because then Zevran would have to stop teasing him about _Rose of Orlais_. He pulled the book from under the cover and eagerly flipped through it.

It wasn't a book. It was a journal. In Antivan. What a pity his Antivan was still so poor. He would so like to – ah, but of course he wouldn't. Reading someone's journal was nothing less than a crime. So, he would put it back under the covers now and then immediately leave the tent. What if Zevran suddenly returned and found him reading his journal? Cold shiver ran down his spine. But then he noticed his name. In Zevran's journal. And he simply _had to_ know.

Frowning, he slowly read the sentence. _Airam is_... hm, what was this... ah yes, still. _Airam is still._.. But he couldn't remember the meaning of the next two words. He would have to look them up in a dictionary. Good thing he took it from the Redcliffe library, it would be very useful now. He carefully put the journal back under the pillow, trying to arrange everything just as it was before. Zevran would probably still notice it , but he had to at least try.

When he was more or less satisfied, he sneaked out of the tent and quickly went to his own; he had to check the words before he forgot them. It took a while, but finally he found the dictionary and looked up the words. He stared at the result. _This_ was what Zevran thought about him?

oOo

Something was very wrong. Ever since Airam was in his tent and read his journal – the crazy kid would make the worst thief in Thedas – he was behaving... strangely. To put it very mildly. He didn't laugh aloud, for example. No matter how much they tried to make him, he would gave them just a little smile and a dry remark. He didn't tell any jokes, either. And worst of all, he didn't come to him to talk any more. No more questions about Antiva, no more requests for anecdotes about his assassin past.

What could have he read that it made him this angry? Maybe he read about... Zevran's feelings... and found it offensive, that an assassin would... What if he decided he didn't want Zevran around any more? Why did he start to write that journal? Back then he so wanted to do everything he could not do as a Crow. Having a journal was one of hem. But apparently, not everything that Crows were doing was wrong. Ah well. It was useless to wallow in regret now, no? What was done was done. Much more important was the future. And there was only one way to find out. He must go and ask Airam about it. Quite simple, yes? He better go and do it now, before he lost courage again.

oOo

Airam had the same idea, it seemed. "I'd like to have a word with you, Zev... in private."

He nodded, pretending to be calm and confident. The Crow training was really useful, sometimes. They went to Airam's tent, much to disappointment of Morrigan and Leliana. But once there, neither of them could suddenly find a voice. For a quite some time they were just standing there, avoiding looking at each other.

Finally, Airam broke the silence. "I know you're angry with me, Zev, and you have every right to be angry... but... I'm sorry. I really thought it was just a book! You know what I'm like, when I see a book, I had to at least flip through it, and... but if I knew what it was, I'd never would have touched it, I swear! Will you forgive me? I can't stand this any more. I don't want to lose your friendship."

Airam was afraid to lose _his_ friendship? It didn't make much sense, but it made him happy. "Do not worry about it," he said with a wide grin. "It was entirely my fault for leaving it there. An assassin should know better than leaving his journal where anyone can read it."

The crazy kid beamed like wider than he had in days, but then he coughed. "I'm so glad we settled this, like two adults should. Now, we should go back to serious business."

Like two adults? But, what – oh. That was it, no? That was why the crazy kid was acting so strangely these last few days. He wanted to be more mature. Zevran grinned again. "That's what you read in the journal? That you're childish, yes? Of all the things I wrote about you, you had to find that one?"

"Of _all_ the things? What else did you write about me? Come on, you _have_ to tell me – wait, Zev, where do you think you're going now? _Zevran_!"

A book flew by his right ear.

It seemed his little Warden was back to his good old crazy self again. He chuckled. This was much more fun, anyway.


	22. Stargazing

Inspired by the lovely picture that Bitenomnom (ShiningMoon at DevArt) made for me. :) For those that follow Failed to Fail, this happens during the chapter 15, Face Value.

Special thanks to awesome **Seika** for her help. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Stargazing<strong>

The night was warm and bright, the sky full of stars. He quickened his pace, wanting to finish the round as soon as possible. As usual, all of the glyphs and traps were undisturbed. Morrigan might say that with all the magical protection, the night watch was not necessary, but there were other enemies, rather than just darkspawn and beasts. Some of his former colleagues, for example, were quite skilled in removing such protection. He would not let them capture him in his sleep, as if he was an untrained snotty kid. But, it seemed there would be no danger tonight.

This was good, because for tonight, he was booked already. He smiled. Crazy kid really did not believe he could stay quiet the whole day, did he? Tch. True, it proved more difficult than he expected. But losing was not an option, not when it meant he would have to ask Wynne to tell him one of her stories, every night, until they reached Orzammar. The reward for winning was much more pleasant – every night, he could tell Airam one of his _own_ stories. Even the lecherous ones. And after three nights, it was clear that the crazy kid enjoyed it as much as Zevran.

Sure enough, when he returned to the fire, Airam was already there, sitting on the trunk, watching the stars. "It is really beautiful, isn't it?" he whispered, when Zevran sat down next to him. "I love watching stars. It's so... calming."

"Calming?"

"And freeing. Back in the Tower, when I couldn't sleep, especially in the last year or so when Jon and I weren't such great friends any more, I'd sneak out of the room and go to one of the empty rooms. It used to be a classroom, but it needed some repairs, though they were never done. I guess they didn't have the money. I didn't care; I loved that it was empty and that it had thick curtains. I would sit on the windowsill, watching the stars and reading a book, sometimes till the morning. It was bliss. Sounds silly, I know."

Zevran was listening, almost holding his breath. Nosy as Airam was about all the others, he never talked willingly about his own past. Sometimes, when Wynne was trying to lecture Airam that he should be proud to be a part of the Circle, she would mention some things; Jowan and Erwin also said a few things, but these were all just hints. As a Crow, he was trained to piece information together and deduce what he needed from it... but Airam was still mystery for him.

"Would you be in big trouble if they caught you?" he asked warily, hoping it wouldn't make Airam stop.

"Yeah. We were forbidden to be out of our rooms during the night. I think they wanted to prevent, eh... you know... more mages." Airam chuckled. "Not that it worked. Most of the Templars in the Tower were fine, and they didn't report you to Greagoir if they caught you. Now _that_ would be bad. There were few who would do it immediately, but we knew which days they were patrolling, so we could avoid them. There was in fact one young Templar; he'd sometimes come to chat for a moment."

_Did he? To chat. Right._ "I thought you didn't like the Templars."

Airam shot him a surprised look. "Well... I don't, generally. If I don't know them. Or if they start acting like the Hand-of-the-Maker-That-Must-Slap-the-Evil-Mage. But Dean was nice. And clever. He knew the names of all the stars and constellations. It was awesome. He even promised to teach me, someday. I found out that's one thing I can't really learn from a book, see."

Suddenly the night didn't seem all that nice. "You must miss him. But you can be together when you return to the Tower, no?"

"Miss him? Be together? Maker, Zev, you make it sound as if we were in love, or something." Airam laughed heartily. "We only met a few times. But I wish he had time to teach me the names of the stars, before I got conscripted."

_In that case, good thing you were conscripted, bello mio_. "In that case, I could teach you, should you wish," he said aloud, trying not to sound too happy. "It's one of the things the Crows need to learn, to tell time at night and for navigation."

Airam's eyes sparkled with joy immediately. "You would do that? That's awesome! Let's start immediately, then!"

He never wasted time, this crazy kid. "As you wish," he replied with a wide grin. "Hm... as you're a Grey Warden, I should start with the constellation of the Griffon. That bright star over there," he pointed to one of the brightest stars, "that's the Eye. See it?"

The crazy kid gave him rather unconvincing nod, so he moved closer to him. "That one – see that tall tree? Above it, and little to the left."

"But there are many stars there," complained Airam.

Grinning, he held Airam's hand and pointed it in the right direction. They were sitting so close now he could hear Airam's heart beating and feel his breath on his cheek. "That one."

To his disappointment, Airam pulled away a bit. "You must think I'm a total fool," said the boy with embarrassed laugh. "I shouldn't bother you with this –"

_Oh no, I'm not going to let this chance go away._ "I've never thought you're a fool – well, except for the first day, but I didn't know you then yet, no? And I assure you, that you are not bothering me. I am your man, my little Warden, without reservation, in case you forgot."

He could see hesitation in Airam's face. "I do not mean I take this as a duty," he added quickly. "I will not get up during the night just for this, nor will I allow you to do so, you already have too little sleep as it is. But during the time like this, why not? It will be fun, no?"

Airam relaxed again and smiled. "You're really the best, Zev. So. Care to show me the other parts of the Griffon?"

"All of them," he chuckled as he moved closer again and put his arm around Airam's shoulder. For a split second, he expected Airam to protest, but he didn't. Only his heart was beating bit faster now. Or maybe it was just Zevran's wishful thinking. Even so, it was the best night of his life.


	23. Choices

For Zev Thread challenge: No More Mister Nice Guy: There are times when sometimes it's so nice to be not nice. We all love our assassin so much, sometimes we forget where he came from, what he's done and what he's capable of.

Xavier is Zevran's former Master, mentioned also in the stories Cast Your Burden On Me Tonight (ch. 1), Not a Friend (ch. 20) and Because of One Man (ch. 6). If you haven't read them yet and would like to, I recommend to read them in this order.

A huge hug to **Seika** for her help and suggestions. You rock, my friend. :)

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><p><strong>Choices<strong>

Zevran stared at the mansion. _Xavier_. _Finally within my reach_. The man who used to be his Master, was only a few meters away. The man who once, and it wasn't that long ago, dominated his whole world. Ever since that fateful afternoon, when he first learned how to be a killer, by slitting the throat of a stranger, this man became the sole reason, and purpose, of Zevran's life. For long years, he was little more than the toy of this man. Back then, the only thing that kept him moving, was his hope that one day he would become a dreaded Master himself – as free as a Crow could hope to be. Of course, the desire to be free from Xavier had no small part in it.

Xavier knew that, of course.

And then the day came, when Zevran desperately wished he was punished as a failure, for a terrible mistake that had cost Crows one skilled assassin. Wasn't that the reason why that pitiful guy, his first victim, was sentenced to death? How appropriate it would be, if his career ended the same way it begun, by assassination, he thought. Instead, Xavier had smiled, and explained how very wrong he was, wrong and naïve, to hope that he could be ever free. Expendable, that was the word Xavier used. Nothing. A slave, always at the mercy of his Masters.

If the Master wouldn't kill him, he decided, then he would arrange it himself. Did Xavier know why he had accepted that quest? Probably. But what he didn't know – what no Crow could ever imagine – was that his second failure would change his life. It would set him free, more free than any Crow Master. He often thought about it – if none of it had happened, if he had remained a Crow, would he have become the same as Xavier? He liked to think that he wouldn't, that at least he wouldn't be as cruel to his apprentices as his former Master was.

But...the more he thought about what Xavier had told him, the more he realized that Xavier had spoken about _himself_, as well. Master or not, he was also still a Crow. He, too, was only an apprentice once, hating his _allenatores_ and Masters as much as Zevran, as much as any apprentice. He, too, was once a young Crow, determined to be the best, to surpass his Masters. And if he had started to show any signs of weakness, he would have been disposed of, and nobody would have mourned him.

It was frightening thought, because, he had to admit to himself, that whether he wanted it or not... in a few years, he _would_ have been the same. If Airam hadn't saved him...

"Zev? Are you all right? We don't have to do this, if you don't want to." Airam's voice sounded worried, and guilty. The crazy kid was probably blaming himself, for forcing Zevran to kill someone important from his past again – like he blamed himself for Taliesin's death.

"No," he said firmly. Taliesin chose his own fate when he volunteered to bring Zevran back, and kill Airam. And Xavier...even if he didn't have any chance to change his life, and get away from the Crows, it was hardly Airam's fault. Or _his_. _I chose to die, rather than to continue being a Crow. Xavier had that choice, too_. And more importantly; as long as the old man lived, they would never be safe. Since Airam had come to Antiva, there had already been five assassination attempts on his and Airam's life, the last one occurring only a few hours ago. True, they were rather pathetic attempts...but it was a matter of time until Xavier found someone more competent.

"No," he repeated with a smile, "this is the man who wanted to burn down the library, remember?"

Airam chuckled. "True. Shall we go, then?"

He nodded. It was time to end this all; then he can return to his own life. If he learned anything in these few months in Antiva, it was that he had no desire to be a Crow; not even the Guildmaster. That part of his life was definitely over. They could force him to come back, they could force him to play the Game again, but they could never force him to stay. He didn't belong there any more.

He belonged with Airam now.

oOo

It was almost over. All of Xavier's men were dead, but his own had lived, thanks to Airam's protective spells. Three of them were badly injured, but Airam was already healing their wounds, and assured them that they would be fine. Zevran had to chuckle when he saw the admiring looks on the faces of his men. He knew some of them were even considering to volunteer for Grey Wardens.

All for that one difference of _not_ being expendable.

He turned back to Xavier, who was now tied on the chair, watching the whole scene with a scornful smile.

"Leave us alone. Take the injured, too," he commanded, and waited until his men obeyed. Airam looked at him, and he hesitated. He knew that Airam accepted him for what he was, but to do this in front of him...

"I'll stay with you," said Airam quietly, but firmly, and walked to his side. "We'll do it _together._"

A wave of relief flooded over him. At first he wanted to hide it, not to show any weakness in front of his former Master. Then he remembered he was _not_ a Crow now. To feel was not a weakness any more. With smile, he turned to his _amore_ and kissed him.

"Thank you," he said. Then he turned back to his previous Master. "I should kill you on the spot, for everything you have done. But in truth, now that I see you like this, I pity you. An old, bitter man, who realizes he is nothing, has nothing, that no one will care when he dies, and who tries to forget about it by terrorizing those below him."

For a split second, Xavier's eyes widened, and he knew he had hit a nerve. "I know you didn't have much of a choice. No Crow has – we either live as we are trained by our Masters, or we die. We are told so many lies, Xavier. We are told, again and again, that there are no such things as mercy, forgiveness, friendship or loyalty. Or love. And we are told that those who believe otherwise are blind, gullible puppets. But the truth is – and you know it, too – that it is us who are turned into empty, soulless puppets, used as tools of hate and revenge."

"My, my. How poetic you've become, in these few months we've been apart, Zevran. But you are wrong. You _are_ blind and gullible. One day, your pretty lover will grow tired of you... and you will realize how stupid you were to trust in something as fleeting and corruptible as love."

Airam bristled. "Oh, of course. Blame it all on some past love of yours that broke your heart! Is that why you enjoy molesting and torturing children?"

"I merely did what a Master is supposed to do," muttered Xavier. "If not me, someone else would have done it."

That was probably true, but...was it enough? "Oh, is that why you set the trap for Rinna, and made it so that Taliesin and I would believe she betrayed us? Because you were _supposed_ to do so?" he asked, not bothering to try and keep hate and pain out of his voice.

Xavier smirked. "Of course. I was merely doing my duty. Friendship and love and not required for a Crow; they are liabilities. I had to break that cute triangle of yours. It could have been you or Taliesin. I chose Rinna because she was the least productive."

He pressed his dagger on the man's throat; he would have killed him right then, if Airam hadn't put a hand on his shoulder.

"I have a question, if I may," said Airam, and it was clear he was carefully choosing every word. "Do you regret what you had to do, as a Crow Master? Would you choose differently, if you had a chance?"

Did Airam really mean what he thought it meant? Surely even he wasn't _that_ crazy? There was a moment of shocked silence. Then Xavier laughed. "Oh, you're an idealist! You're one of those who believe in forgiving and giving new chances, yes? A proper little Andrastian? Too bad. You will not convert _me_. I'm not some whiny whoreson. I'm a true Crow Master and I'm proud of it; I don't need you to save me. But what about you? Such a sweet innocent lad. You are doomed. If you let me live, I will find a way to kill you, sooner or later. But if you kill me, a helpless prisoner, outside of battle, it will be murder, and you will be no better than I am. So, what shall it be, kid? Will you let me live and lose your life here, or will you kill me and lose your soul?"

Airam listened to it, looking more and more sad with every word. "You got it all wrong, you know. Zevran is free, because he _wanted_ to be free. It was _his_ choice. I'm far from innocent; I can't save anyone. I'm a Commander of Grey. And Grey Wardens do what is necessary. Even if it means losing their soul."

For a moment, there was a hint of surprise and understanding on Xavier's face, but then it was gone again. "I made my choice as well," he declared, looking into Airam's eyes.

"I will respect it, then."

There was nothing else to say. Zevran stepped behind the chair. It was a strange to be there, to do this and yet somehow... appropriate. He was thirteen, when he killed for the first time, on the order of this man. He could still remember it; the fear in the eyes of the man, the sweat on his pale face, the wrinkles around his eyes. It was that day that his life as a Crow truly started – the life of a murderer, with blood on his hands. Now, another thirteen years later, his life was going to change again.

It was a clean cut.

The blood was dripping from the dagger, onto the now limp body of his former Master. He did _not_ regret what he did. But he didn't feel the triumph he thought he would. He felt only weariness. He rubbed his eyes. Airam quickly closed the space between them and gently touched his arm. "I'm sorry, Zev. But at least this was the last one. You will never have to do this again."

He nodded, and placed the daggers on the knees of his dead Master. "_Addio, Maestro_. I choose not be like you."

Airam was still looking worried. But there was no need to. It was all past now. And looking at his _amore_, he knew he chose well.

"Let's go home."


	24. Warmth

Written for the Valentine's Day Challenge at CMDA.

Big hug to Seika for her help and lovely comments. :)

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><p><strong>Warmth<strong>

Zevran breathed on his hands, in a futile attempt to warm them. Ferelden, he decided, was definitely most dreary country in whole of Thedas. And beyond. He had often heard that Ferelden was brown, and for the most part of the year that was true. But now, even that one colour had dissipated into dirty greyness. The sky was grey, the streets were grey, and even the houses were grey, covered in a thick grey mist.

The only things that were not grey, were his ears and nose – those were the brightest shade of red. Red and painful. He snorted, ignoring the disgusted looks of nearby people. Yes, yes, it was all his fault, for refusing to wear shawls and fur cap and gloves. But, he preferred to keep his dignity.

Andraste's sweet ass, where was that crazy kid? What interesting thing could be bought on the market in this frigid weather? And how did those merchants survive it, anyway? He shifted from one leg to another, almost numb from the cold.

Finally, he saw Airam hurrying to him, with a smile that was quite inappropriate for this context. After all, he almost froze to death here.

"Here I am," the crazy kid said, completely ignorant to his suffering. "Sorry, it took me bit longer. Hold this for me, will you?"

He wanted to say something sarcastic, but was distracted by the two hot packages Airam pressed into his hands, and the nice smell coming out of them.

"Mmmm...that smells – wait, what are you doing?"

Airam wrapped a long crimson shawl around his neck. "Saving your life, you silly assassin. Now, hold still." With an irritatingly smug grin, he put a cap on his head, and pulled it down to his ears. "There, now you look properly dressed. I have thick warm mittens as well, but you can put them on after you eat that."

"I said I don't need this. I can bear a bit of cold," he protested, but quickly relented under Airam's strict glare.

"Don't be silly. The winter has just begun, and you already look more dead than alive. What will you do when the real cold comes? And don't you dare argue with me. If you can't do it by your own common sense, you'll do it because your Commander – which is me, unless you've forgotten – commands it."

It was useless to protest, he knew. Besides, he did feel much better; his ears had already started to unfreeze. Not that he was going to admit it, of course. He sighed dramatically. "Ah, how cruelly you torture me, my dearest Warden Commander."

"Only when you deserve it," Airam quipped. "Better stop blabbering and eat while they're still warm. Now come on, or we won't get there before nightfall and Isabela will be too busy then, and I'll miss my duelling lesson."

Zevran obediently reached and into the sack, as they headed to the side alleys leading to the Pearl. "And what exactly is this?" he asked, examining the round and brown thing he pulled out.

"You don't have chestnuts in Antiva? They're really nice, especially in cold days like this. You have to peel them – here, try it." Airam popped one of the chestnuts in his mouth.

"What do you say? Good?"

"Mmm, yes, very good," he replied, picking another one. It really was. Silky and mildly sweet and so unlike anything he had ever eaten before.

"I'm glad you like it. Finally, something that I could teach you."

He stopped and looked at Airam, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well... you're always teaching me all kind of awesome things... while I'm so..."

"So...?"

"Boring. And plain. I still can't believe you –"

He didn't let Airam finish. Thrusting the packages to Airam's hands, he pulled him forward and kissed him. It was unnerving, to hear Airam say aloud his own words about _himself_. What he was. How to live. How to...everything. He learned, thanks to this boy. What could he possibly offer to match it?

"I sometimes forget how crazy you are," he said, when they broke the kiss. "Only _you_ could say something that impossible."

"It's not –"

"Are you saying that _I_, the best lover in Antiva, have bad taste in men?" he asked, folding his arms.

Airam chuckled. "Perish the thought." He wrapped his arms around Zevran's arms and kissed him again, but broke it entirely too soon, for Zevran's standards.

"Your nose is too cold," he explained, with a smile.

"And here I thought our great ice mage doesn't mind the cold," he complained.

"I just found out I do – during kissing," Airam quipped, and stepped away. "Perhaps once you get warm again..."

"Hm... true, getting warm is fun. Especially at place like the Pearl, and with people like Isabela. I like the way you think."

The boy just smiled, knowing his jokes too well by now. He gave him one of the packages with chestnuts, and started walking down the street again. Zevran quickly walked to his side. It was not fair at all, that he had to wait till the Pearl for another kiss. He already _was_ warm.


	25. Good Crow Is Hard To Find

For Zev Thread challenge: Rinna - Not Dying. Hm... And probably for CMDA 'Minor Character' challenge, as well. :D

Big thanks to my lovely Seika for her help and comments. :)

Also: If I didn't reply to someone's review, please forgive me. Your reviews, and alerts and favs always make me bounce with joy. But the first week in work after being ill for more than five weekscaused big delay in everything - writing, reading, reviewing _and_ replying to reviews. I'll catch up with everything soon, I promise.

Maya: I'm happy you like my crazy kid. :D You can read more about him in Failed to Fail, Meet Cute, and most of my other oneshots. If that's not enough, there's a devArt story about him here: http:/ / ventisquear. deviantart. com /art/ Commander-of-Grey-283809588

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><p><strong>Good Crow Is Hard To Find<strong>

The first time he met her, was the morning after Master Xavier claimed him as his apprentice. Sore, tired, but triumphant, he was hobbling to his new room, thinking about all the new and exciting things that would start now. Like having his own room. His fingers wrapped around the key more tightly. He did it; he had survived, and his ultimate goal–to become the best Crow ever–was one step nearer. Now, he had to convince Xavier that he was the best of the apprentices. That shouldn't be so difficult; he doubted that any of the others was quite his level. He hadn't met any of the other apprentices yet, but–

One of the doors opened, and a small elf walked out, yawning. They both stopped, watching each other warily. A boy, of his age, possibly even younger, small and skinny, dressed in tight leggings and loose white shirt, messy short hair that looked as if it hadn't been combed for days, bright face and lips twisted in a scornful smile.

"Not another freshling," the elf said, and he found out that it was a girl. "I really don't understand why Master takes so many… especially as unsexy as you. I bet you won't survive a week."

"I am sexy," he blurted, and immediately wished he could take it back. The elf's brow flew up, but she didn't say anything. Of course she didn't say anything–something that lame wasn't worth a reply.

Before he could come up with something properly witty, she closed the door behind her and walked past him, down the corridor. For a moment he wanted to cry after her, to ask for her name, but he decided he had embarrassed himself enough for a day. Or for a lifetime. No, he should come with something really impressive that would teach the damned knife-ear her place.

He looked at the door to her room. She didn't lock it. Fatal error. Really, how could an apprentice be that stupid? And the corridor was empty once again now. Without hesitation, he walked over, opened the door and stepped inside–

"Aaaaaaaaaaargh!"

He hopped out of the room, trying to pull out the bolt from his left thigh at the same time. But he was becoming dizzy; his hand was too heavy and didn't want to obey.

"Whasgoinon?"

"Who's that?"

"A new apprentice? Did he try to get into Rinna's room? Idiot."

"Heh. Wanna bet how long he'll last?"

"Mmm… it seems the bolt was poisoned… two hours."

Gritting his teeth, he limped into his room, pretending he didn't hear the laughter that was following him. There he calmly examined the wound. He should probably go to see the healer, but he'd rather die than to admit this humiliation. No, a poultice would have to do. _Rinna_. Stupid bitch. She was going to pay for this. Nobody humiliates_ him_ without paying a terrible price. He would punish her, make her beg for mercy. In public. She would cry herself to death, when he was done with her. Just wait.

oOo

It didn't work quite like that. He managed to prove his worth and gain the respect of the other apprentices, but never her. Whenever she looked at him, her lips twisted into that scornful smile. _Give it up_, the smile said, _I'm the best apprentice and you're just dirt under my feet_. The worst thing was, that he had to admit–albeit grudgingly–that she was _almost_ as good as him. He was better with daggers, and stronger, but she was much better in traps and poisons. Even the senior apprentices couldn't outmatch her in that.

Other than that, they were evenly matched, the two best apprentices of the year. Of course, neither of them liked that. Only one can be the best. Their rivalry soon became notorious; the other apprentices were making bets whenever the two of them were assigned a task.

And they were often assigned to work together. Officially, it was because the Master thought that working together brought out their full potential; privately he always suspected that the Master was simply amused by their hate of each other.

But… as annoying as the knife-ear was, he found that he was more irritated whenever he had to work with different partner. Compared to her, they were all so dumb. And clumsy. None of them moved as gracefully as her, it was a pleasure to watch. Not that he watched, of course, but he couldn't not notice, right? None of them had such a spark in their eyes, nor could they express so much by a single smirk.

When he and Rinna became lovers, nobody was surprised.

oOo

And then two became three, and life was as perfect as it could be.

There was nothing they couldn't do, there wasn't a target too difficult, a mission too dangerous. 'Team Art', they called them, as their fame spread, first within their cell and then trough the guild. Their names were always said in almost pious whisper: Arainai, Rinna, Taliesen. They were praised by the Masters, worshiped by other Crows.

Envied and hated by all.

But so certain of their own superiority, they didn't care. In those blessed years they really believed it could last, that they would move up the ladder and rule the Crows together.

Perhaps they would. The bond between them was… unique. Not friends–that word is such a cliché. No, it was so much more than that: they were equals. Each of them excelled in something else, but they were at the same level. That was why it worked so well: they could admire each other without jealousy and all that emotional nonsense. And they were expressing that admiration frequently and thoroughly.

Yes, they were happy years.

But then things changed again.

The three started to become two again, and in the worst possible way. If they had said they were bored of their arrangement, that they preferred to have sex without him, he would have accepted that. But this… they behaved like those clueless targets, not like Crows. Soon they would vow eternal love to each other, the way it was going. He wanted to scream in helpless rage and disgust. Were those two fools not aware what they were doing? Everything they were working so hard to achieve would be destroyed. And for what? For _what_?

"I see you finally opened your eyes to truth."

He winced; he didn't hear Master Xavier coming. And what was he supposed to say to that? What was truth, anyway?

"Most disappointing, isn't it?" The Master nodded towards the two fools below, who _still_ didn't realize that they were watched from the roof; the best proof how idiotic and dangerous all this 'love' business was.

"You're a good Crow. You know what needs to be done. I'll leave the decision to you. Choose wisely."

He looked at the two envelopes the Master gave him, the names written on them, and felt something shatter inside him. This was it, this was the end. Nothing was ever going to be the same.

"Yes, Master."

He remained on the roof long after the Master left, long after the two fools left, wondering if he would feel better if he could cry.

oOo

"Zev, we need to talk."

"Not now, Tal. We have to meet Rinna– "

"Zevran. Rinna betrayed us." How easily it came from his lips.

Yes, Master Xavier was right.

He was a good Crow.


	26. Death Happens

A warning to all Airam's fans: _this is an __**AU**__ story! _I swear by the Maker that Failed to Fail will not end like this, so don't kill me_._ In the story "Good Crow Is Hard To Find", I made Taliesen choose who will he betray, at the Master's command: Rinna or Zevran. In that story, he chose Rinna.

But what if he chose Zevran?

Inspired by and written for Enaid Aderyn. :)

As always, big hug to my sweet beta Seika for her help and comments! :)

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><p><strong>Death Happens<strong>

The other Masters used to envy him for those three. "Ah, Xavier, you lucky dog," they said, "you really picked the best ones. True works of art!"

As if luck had anything to do with it! Sure, they were masterpieces–_his_ masterpieces. It took more than two decades of work and dozens of failures, before he found these three, and honed them into perfect tools. And look at them now.

He had to admit, they fascinated even him. A little. Each of them excelled in different areas, but they were equally beautiful and deadly. And together, there was nothing that they couldn't do: there wasn't a target too difficult or a mission too dangerous. 'Team Art', the other Crows called them, as their fame spread. They were first within their cell and then through the guild. Their names were spoken in almost a pious whisper: Arainai, Rinna, Taliesin. Praised by the other Masters. Worshipped by their fellow Crows.

There wasn't a single Crow who didn't wish to be invited into their bedroom. But such things happened rarely; to be invited would mean to be accepted as their equals. And he was pretty sure that they didn't even consider the Guildmaster their match.

They were so blind to what they really were. It amused him, really. Let the kids think they could move up the ladder and rule the Crows together. As long as they remained useful and efficient, there was little harm in it, no? He had great plans, and those three played an important part in them. Until the time came, they could have their fun; that was what he thought.

To think they would disappoint him like this…

The trio started to break apart. That itself wouldn't have been that bad: it was never meant to last forever anyway. If Rinna and Zevran had simply become by Taliesin and looked for a new lover, or decided to stay as a couple for some time, it would have been fine. Welcomed, in fact. But this! Acting like clueless commoners! What were those two thinking? That nobody would notice their–their _romantic affair_?

How embarrassing. Naturally, the other Masters were basking in it. Even that fool Clezio dared to tease him–just yesterday he asked,in front of the Guildmaster, no less–if the two doves had asked for marital blessings.

He cursed loudly. The young apprentice kneeling below his desk winced and hesitated, looking up at him. Why was he surrounded by incompetent fools? Though truthfully, not even a desire demon could arouse him tonight.

"Get lost," he grumbled, and the boy quickly scrambled to his feet and fled, looking relieved. He would have to punish him for that later.

But first, those three. He looked at the documents at his desk and smiled. Now, which one of them would be the best for this? Not so long ago he'd have said Rinna, but she turned out to be a sentimental fool. Definitely not Zevran. He was always too rebellious, always looking for a chance to escape. Hm. This could be just what was needed to finally break his stubbornness. So that left Taliesen. Yes, he would be perfect. Strong. Ambitious. And jealous that he was suddenly left out.

Xavier chuckled. Perhaps he could at least turn this fiasco into some fun.

oOo

The night was surprisingly fresh and dark, with thick clouds covering the moon and stars. The wind was picking up, rocking the ships in the black sea, their wood and ropes cracking and squeaking with each move. It was unnerving sound: as if the ships were full of living skeletons, tiptoeing across the board. Taliesin shook himself. What nonsense. He must not get all sentimental and whiny now. It was just another mission, just another target.

_It's your fault, Zevran, that I have to do this! _

What was taking Rinna so long? It was already half an hour past their agreed time. If he didn't know better, he'd start to doubt her. But no, that was nonsense. Sure, at first she hadn't wanted to believe it… but the documents were quite convincing. There was no reason for her to suspect they were not real.

He felt a pang of regret. They were the best team ever, the three of them, of that he was sure. What a pity these two fools had to ruin it! Fame, money… power. Together, they would have had it all. To think that Zevran was only one successful mission away from promotion to the Junior Master… Such waste of skill and talent.

Brasca_, Zevran. Why couldn't you use your real head instead, for once? You know, the one at your neck?_

The best lover in Antiva. His lips twisted in disgust. Zevran might be the best assassin he knew, but he was also the biggest fool, wasting his time on love affairs instead of focusing on coming to the top. No, Zevran would never become the Senior Master, let alone the Guildmaster.

That was why he chose Rinna. Once she got over all this nonsense, she would be much more useful. It wasn't an easy decision. When the Master had given him the envelopes with Zevran and Rinna's names, and told him that _he_ was to decide and kill one of his partners… he had almost been sick.

But it was necessary. He could see the Master's point. And it would make him a better Crow–

Someone was coming. Rinna? No–there was more than one person. Something was wrong. He put hands on his daggers, ready to fight, but the figure in front lifted his right arm.

"Taliesin," he heard the soft, cold voice that sent shivers down his spine. Why was _he_ here?

"Master Xavier," he replied politely, bowing his head.

"Do you know why I'm here, Taliesin?"

Master's voice was almost merry and his stomach clenched. He knew that tone only too well. Something was _very_ wrong. "No, Master," he said, in the same polite tone, because there was nothing else he could do.

The Master's bodyguards began circling around him in order to stop him immediately, should he try to do something stupid, like running away. He realized that whatever happened, he was going to die for it.

"I am here, because Rinna and Zevran are gone."

_Gone? _

"I think I made myself clear that I wanted _you_ to do it, no? Did you think I was joking, perhaps? That I would leave such disobedience unpunished?"

_That bitch!_ "Allow me to bring them back, Master," he said, not because he wanted to save his life, but because he wanted to end _hers_, in the most painful way possible.

"You? When you failed such an easy mission as this one?" The Master laughed derisively. "The only place you're going is the training yard, Taliesin. There is one promising kid…"

No. Not like that. He would not die like a training dummy for some snotty brat. His daggers were coated with a strong poison, it should be enough; but Xavier's body guard grabbed and disarmed him before he could even finish that thought.

Xavier watched him, with a mocking smile on his lips. _You're an idiot, Tal. There's nothing to be proud of._ Zevran told his that long ago, when Taliesen was still just a curious apprentice who envied his older comrade his first kill. _Nothing at all_.

And for the first time, he wondered if Zevran wasn't right after all.

oOo

Dead. One arrow; that was all it took. Dead before she hit the ground. No goodbye words. Only the arrow, obscenely protruding from the eye.

He refused to believe it. They had survived travel through Antiva, Rivain, the Free Marches; they had killed the dozens of Crows sent after them, and countless bandits and thugs foolish enough to cross their way. How probable was it that she would die from a stray arrow shot by–by that smelly thing that wasn't even human?

And yet there she was, the other eye still widened in surprise.

The fire slowly melded into the sunset, and the world turned into a heap of cold ashes. In the morning he found, with surprise, that he was still alive. He carefully collected the ashes, put them into the leather pouch and hung it around his neck. It didn't really matter; he didn't plan to live much longer and he doubted that whoever killed him would bother with any ceremonies. But he wasn't ready to part with her. Not yet.

Zevran took his daggers, money, and things he would need to survive the next few days; he left the rest by the remnants of the pyre, free for anyone who wanted them. He didn't need it any more.

oOo

Sten didn't understand. The man was an assassin, hired to kill the Wardens and their companions. It was his chance to return back to the Crows, he said so himself. And yet when he had made the proposal to serve the Warden instead, their leader hesitated and was willing to accept it. Did he not see that the assassin had no sense of duty and honour? Telling lame excuses of a difficult childhood.

As if that mattered. No one could choose the way he came into the world, or change his past. All that a man could do was to live the best way he could. To give his life a sense and order by fulfilling his duties. In that way a man became strong, and those around him profited. Whining, complaining, excuses; they were all signs of a weak mind and coward's heart. Such a man caused only harm, to himself and to others.

Weakness was like a poison. Was this not what caused the first appearance of the blighted creatures? Had humans disciplined their minds and hearts and lived for the duty of every day, instead of wild fantasies of endless power and glory, there would be no magisters, no Black City, no Blights. If he ever returned to the Arishok, this would be his answer. The Blight is a weakness of the mind and a darkness of the soul.

The Warden was a child. Qunari would never bestow a task this immense to a mere child that had not been fully educated yet. A man like that assassin would only fill the Warden's head with nonsense. Sten promised to bring the Warden to the Archdemon, andhe intended to fulfil that promise. That was why, if the Warden could not see what was the right thing to do, it was _his_ duty to do so.

There was no reason for this tantrum. Sten watched the raging Warden with calm curiosity. He had never seen such irrational behaviour before.

"How _could_ you? Kill him like, like a mangy old dog?"

"He was dangerous."

"He was disarmed and injured! He was no threat at all!"

"He was an assassin."

"And _you_ are a murderer! How are _you_ any better? He was killing for money; you slaughtered innocents in a blind rage. You are worse!"

"That is true," he admitted. "I was willing to die for it."

"So was he."

"That cannot be confirmed."

"He _wanted_ to die. How can you not see that?"

He didn't. It made no sense. The assassin attacked them–his goal was clearly to kill them and to survive himself.

"That trap–even _I_ could see what it was from the first moment. And he didn't really put his heart into the fight. I doubt we would have won so easily, if he did. And he was surprised that he was alive, when he woke up. He actually _said_ that he expected to be dead. Didn't you hear it?"

"That does not mean he would not try it again."

"I don't think he would. He seemed to be an honest person," the Warden said thoughtfully and crouched down by the assassin's body to close his eyes.

Sten decided such foolish remark was not worth his reaction. "You killed the others and do not mind that," he pointed out.

"You think I'm happy I killed them?" the Warden bristled again. "I would spare them, if I could, but it was not possible. But him–he could have lived. He deserved that chance, just like you."

Sten looked at the other Warden, who had also been against keeping the assassin alive. But the man didn't say anything; he just stood there, blushing and embarrassed. When he noticed Sten was watching him, he averted his eyes. The Lay Sister didn't pay notice to him, praying quietly to the human god to have mercy on assassins. Another fool. The only sensible person was the witch, who was already looting the bodies for useful things.

It was clearly futile to continue this argument. "Let us move on. We wasted enough time here already."

"We're not going anywhere until we burn them. I owe him at least that much."

The other Warden and the Lay Sister immediately started to collect wood, without a word. Sten clenched his fists in helpless fury. "You do not owe him anything. Killing him was the most reasonable solution."

The Warden looked at him with despise. "Killing is never the most reasonable. Easiest, perhaps. He knew that. Did you hear the last thing he said, Sten? He said_, '_It doesn't hurt.' He was right, you know. To kill and to die, that's always easy. It's life that is difficult and hurts. But you don't understand, do you."

It wasn't a question. The Warden thought that he knew what Sten's answer would be. So he didn't bother answering. He didn't bother helping them with the pyre, either. If he did, the Warden would probably think he was admitting he was wrong to kill the assassin. That would be a lie. He would not lie.

By the time it was all done, the sun was already setting down. They only walked for a few miles, not wanting to camp next to the pyre. The dinner was quick and cold, without the usual chatting. When the Warden came to his tent, he instinctively knew what would follow.

"I'm sorry, Sten, but I don't think the two of us are compatible. We never were, but I hoped that over time, we could find some understanding. After what happened today… I don't think so, any more. I can't trust you. I think it's really better if we part our ways here."

The Warden stopped, as if he wanted him to protest, to say he wanted to stay. He did not. He only nodded.

"Here. Your share." The Warden gave him a small pouch with money. "It's not much, but it's exactly one fifth of all we have. Leliana is packing a fifth of the food and poultices; she will bring it when it's ready. Please feel free to take anything else you think you might need."

He nodded again, knowing that he would not take anything. When the Warden left, he took the sword– a nameless sword that could never be his–and what little food he already had in his pack. The rest he would not need, so he piled in neatly into his tent. Without waiting for Leliana, or bothering to say meaningless words to the others, he walked away.

He had the answer the Arishok was searching for, but he could not return home. There was only one place he could go. Back where he failed. Where he failed his mission and lost his soul. And where now he hoped to lose his life.

oOo

"You were right, you know." Alistair wiped the snow away and sat down, watching Airam's cheeky smile. He could not remember the last time he saw that smile.

"Forgive me. I wasn't much of a friend."

Only one year as a king was enough to understand how unfair he had been to his fellow Warden. Pushing him into the position of Commander, hiding behind him whenever a difficult decision had to be made, and yet never forgiving if the decision wasn't to his liking. At first Airam argued, or tried to explain himself; later he would just retreat to his tent and ignore him. Back then, it made him angry; he would often accuse Airam of being childish and irresponsible; today, he couldn't understand why Airam hadn't strangled him.

He knew now frustrating it was, when everyone around you was trying to pull you their way, to fit their own image of a what a king should be.

Or a Warden.

This was the only place he could be himself, he realized. What a pity it was so far from Denerim. But he owed at least this much to Airam. The nobles didn't like it. Eamon and Anora insisted on a grand tomb, next to the tombs of the greatest people of Ferelden, with a statue and memorial every year. Not that they cared about Airam while he was alive, they only saw the political capital in it.

It wasn't always like that. When Airam was captured and dragged into Fort Drakon, Eamon thought they didn't need him any more–the army was already gathered, and negotiations with nobles had been successful. Eamon was sure they would win the Landsmeet even without Airam. Of course, he didn't say it frankly, no there were hundreds of excuses and logical reasons why they should not try to free him.

That was the first time he stood against his former benefactor.

It took them ten days to plan and prepare everything. Airam was still alive when they found him, but... he shivered at the memory.

Airam was never the same after that. He didn't smile often before, but after that he stopped smiling completely. He was like a soulless puppet, doing what was necessary, but not caring any more. When Riordan explained them why it had to be a Warden to kill the Archdemon, Airam immediately said he would do it. When he tried to protest, Airam cut him off.

"Please, Al. At least this once, don't argue with me."

"But you can't just throw away your life like that!"

"What life?"

The eeriest thing was that Airam's voice had been so calm–without any emotions.

"Besides, you're a king. I'm just a knife-ear mage. Nobody gives a damn if I live or die."

"How can you say something like that? What about your friends? Jowan? Erwin? Irving? What about _me_? _I _care if you live or die! "

Airam gave him a surprised look–a look that still hurt, even after all that time, a look that asked 'You do?' louder than if Airam really said it.

"You're like a brother to me!" he exclaimed, angry that his fellow Warden doubted in him.

"I'm sorry, Al. I shouldn't have said that. It was cruel from me," said Airam softly, avoiding his gaze. "But it still doesn't change the fact that you're the one that Fereldan will need in the coming years. And I... I can't go on any more. It's like an endless night. I don't see any light, and I'm so tired, Alistair... _Please_. If you really are my friend, _let me go_."

He agreed. He agreed, because he didn't know what else to say. It was the last time they could speak together, as the next morning the march to Denerim started and they had other things to think about. It was the last time, and he failed to show the best friend he had ever had that he _did_ care, that it wasn't just an empty phrase. Till the moment of his death, this would be his biggest regret.

Airam only asked for one thing: to be taken back home and buried next to his family. So he did, despite what his wife or his Chancellor thought. Airam's friends from the Tower made a portrait of him. Eyes sparkling with mischief. Smiling. _Happy_. But when did he see Airam like that? Maybe in the very beginning. When they still couldn't imagine just _how_ difficult their task would be.

They protected it with magic. Even after all this time, it still looked as if it was painted yesterday. Everything around it changed, grew and died and grew again, but that smile was always the same.

He sighed and got up. Time to go back to his royal life. He would much prefer to just lie down here, fall asleep and let the snow cover him like a blanket. Endless night with no light. Yes, he understood now. But it was not possible, not yet.

"Wait for me, brother. One day, I will join you. I'm already looking forward to it."

He could have sworn that Airam's smile widened.


	27. The Last Regret

For Zev Thread challenge. :)

Big hug to Seika for her help and support. Thanks, hun!

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><p><strong>The Last Regret<strong>

She was watching him with those big, timid brown eyes, and his stomach clenched. It was not fair that her life had to end like this. But it was inevitable. There was no other way. How stupid of him, to get attached to her! After all, he knew what would happen the moment the trap was ready. From the very beginning, she was merely a tool. That she was young and beautiful, her firm body warm and pulsing with life, was irrelevant. A Crow could not care about such thing.

Better do it now, before the others got up. He would not give them the pleasure of seeing their boss in such a mess. That _was_ why he decided to do it himself, after all. It would have been easier to leave it to one of his subordinates, yes. But it would also have destroyed his authority, and that wouldn't do. No. No matter how today ended, he would not let these weaklings sneer at him.

Zevran sighed and walked over to her, gently touching her face. She suspected nothing; she even leaned into his touch. _Brasca_. This was not supposed to be this difficult. Trying to ignore those big eyes, still so full of trust, he untied her and led her to the place where they decided to set the trap.

"Forgive me," he muttered. "I know it does not matter to you, but I promise I will never again use a trap like this."

He slit her throat, and quickly stepped aside to avoid the gushing blood. She looked at him; surprised, confused, and tried to move forward to him, but her knees gave way under her and she fell down.

The other Crows were already arriving from the camp, but didn't pay much attention to him. He knew that there wasn't anything suspicious or unusual about the scene for them. Everyone knew that if this mission was successful, he would be promoted to Junior Master. If he wanted to participate in setting the trap in person, it was perfectly understandable. Not one of those fools could understand the little drama that just happened here. Or that her life was more important than any of them.

Which was an irony, no? The fact that he knew it and still did not care proved just how twisted he had become. And that his decision was right, after all.

_If everything goes right, I will soon join you. And if not, I promise there will be no beef for dinner tonight_.

"I must say, it looks quite convincing." Genna walked over to him and looked down at the bleeding animal. "Adding the cows was really a nice touch. The Warden will not have a clue what's going on until the very end. You really are the best."

"Were there any doubts?" he laughed and offered her his arm. "I hope these Wardens are at least worth all the effort. But come now. Let's do something more pleasant."

_Wish me luck, my friend. _


	28. Without Reservation

You might know this from CMDA, as I wrote this some time back.. I just forgot that I didn't put it here. ^^

Thanks to Seika for her help. :)

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><p><strong>Without Reservation<strong>

A bit of flirting always made things easier. If it got him where he wanted, or fetched him a better price, then why not? Usually, only a few carefully chosen compliments and well acted smiles were all that was needed. The objects of his flirtations were left feeling attractive and desired, and he had what he wanted. Win-win, as far as he was concerned.

This time was no different. A bit of fun only; no harm done, yes? Or, so _he_ thought. The man clearly had other ideas, and had expressed them very openly. In public. Right in front of his Airam. Who didn't look happy at all. And then remained unhappy for the rest of the day.

By evening, he couldn't stand it any more. "Come, my sweet. You're not seriously angry because of that fool?"

"No, not because of him. Because of him and _all the others_! Do you really have to flirt with every single man and woman that comes near you?"

The angry, bitter tone took him by surprise. They had been together for four years, and never once had Airam said anything about it. He really thought Airam didn't mind.

"I don't see why you're complaining _now_," he said, more harshly than he wanted. "You've always known who I am." He barely spoke the words, and already regretted them, and wished he could take them back.

Airam looked as if he had hit him. "I thought I did. Now..." He hesitated and left it unfinished. Avoiding Zevran's look, he turned and walked away.

He immediately wanted to run after him but he couldn't move; he was paralysed by fear. A fear bigger than when he faced the Archdemon. _What have I done?_ His whole world was reduced to this one thought.

It took him more than an hour, and a shot of Antivan brandy, to get the courage to go after him. Airam was sitting on the terrace, staring at the stars. He quietly sat down next to him and reached out to touch him, but his hand stopped half way.

"_Amore mio_. Forgive me. I thought you didn't mind, that you– "

Airam turned to him. "I lied. _I lied_, Zevran."

He didn't understand. It didn't make sense. But it filled him with cold terror that made him shiver, though it was a hot summer evening. "About what?" he whispered.

"About me. I am not open minded. I'm the most old-fashioned, narrow-minded jealous fool there ever was. I can't stand it when other people look at you like that. And when you flirt with someone, I want to kill him on the spot."

Suddenly Airam shoved him to the floor, pinning his hands above his head. "Mine," he said, his eyes dark with anger and passion. "You are _mine,_ Zevran. My love. My life. My everything. I want you, only you and all of you. I want your heart and your body and your soul. And I will gladly give you mine. If you want it."

Relief. That was what he felt. Only then did he realised that he _wanted_ to hear this. He _wanted_ Airam to be jealous, to care for him enough to be jealous. He closed his eyes, feeling absolutely happy. But Airam misunderstood and pulled away.

"But–but if you don't want it, Zev... If you desire someone else... then, perhaps, it would be better if... if we..."

He immediately sat up and hugged him tightly. "Don't say that. Don't you _ever_ say that, _amore_. Don't you even think about it. _I am yours._ Always was. Always will be."

"Mine?"

"Yours," he whispered in Airam's ear, knowing very well what it would cause.

"Yours," breathed Airam.

"Mine," he agreed.

They undressed each other, slowly, relishing in the touch of one another, as if they hadn't had sex just yesterday. As if it was their first time together, giving themselves to the other one completely, without reservation.

It was nice to belong.


	29. So Fresh So Clean

For Zevran weekly prompt: Style. A scene based on Zevran's impeccable appearance. _Slightly_ AU. :)

Thanks to my dear lady Seika for her help. :)

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><p><strong>So Fresh So Clean<strong>

For any proper assassin, maintaining a stylish, perfect appearance was as crucial as memorising various poisons. The _allenatores_ never tired of repeating that rule. After years of practise, Zevran could confirm that it was true. Sometimes, it was even more important than knowledge of poisons. It helped to open doors–and other things–much more efficiently than any lockpick. And, unlike what the crazy kid thought, it was not at all easy to manage.

Of course, someone who thought that anyone above twenty-one was _old_, could not fully appreciate the effort needed to keep youth and good looks. But, even crazy kids must realise that removing potentially poisonous blood from your skin was–

"Zevran!" Alistair's whiny voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you still alive, or did you drown?"

He rolled his eyes. Another fool who didn't think appearances were important. Hm… in truth , in Alistair's case, it was more about basic hygiene than about looking _stylish_. It would surprise him if the Chantry boy even knew how to spell that word.

"Just a bit longer!" he called back.

"If that ridiculous assassin of yours doesn't come out in five minutes, we are leaving," he heard Morrigan say, with a shrill edge to her voice.

"He's not 'my assassin'," came Airam's embarrassed reply.

"Why did you cast that spell?" Sten asked.

"I have to agree with others, Airam. Don't you think this is going too far?"

Ah. He wondered when the annoying old hag would join in. Too far, heh. Wait until she found out that her bath herbs were gone.

"But you know how important it is for him," Airam argued. "Because–because it's necessary for an assassin and…" Ariam's voice trailed off. "…all that," he finished lamely.

Zevran would swear he _heard_ Morrigan's eyes rolling up. "Yes, 'tis so important to look attractive when battling darkspawn."

He heard a high-pitched giggle. Ah. The annoying ex-bard ex-sister. "Perhaps it's his backup plan; if he can't kill them, he'll try to impress them with his sex appeal."

"Not even darkspawn are _that_ naïve," Sten said dryly.

"What _exactly_ do you mean by that?" Airam's voice sounded dangerous, but there was no reply.

Instead, Alistair started whining again. "Does he have to do it after every single battle? It's the _third _time today!"

"Alistair is right. If Zevran is irresponsible, it is up to you, as our leader, to reprimand him and to explain that such behaviour is not desirable."

Ouch. It seemed Wynne was really pissed off. He should hurry up before she started giving Airam another annoying lecture. The boy was always in a foul mood afterwards… and he would blame Zevran for it. It could interfere with his plans for this evening.

"If you do not want to reprimand him, at least do not _support_ him. Or at least don't waste your energy. Let him find warm water by himself. Perhaps it would make him more pragmatic about it."

Tch. He _was_ pragmatic. That's why he asked Airam to do these things by magic, no? Oh well. Real genius was seldom understood. He looked in the hand mirror and brushed his hair one last time. The result was not perfect, but it was as good as could be expected, given these crude conditions. He carefully wrapped the mirror in cloth and returned it into his backpack. Then he emptied the barrel and dried it with a rag. It used to be one of Alistair's so-called shirts, before he borrowed it from the Templar's tent three weeks ago. Well, he hadn't asked… but the change did it good–its shape and colour was definitely better now. And it was much cleaner. And besides, Alistair still hadn't noticed it was gone.

Ignoring the glares and comments the others tossed his way, he rolled the barrel back to the Bodahn's cart.

"Enchantment!" Sandal hopped around him, clapping his hands.

"Yes, I am," he agreed. Wynne and the others made a collective snort. So predictable. "Thank you," he said quietly when he joined Airam. "And sorry for Wynne's lecture."

"It's all right, she didn't have time to really get started. But–" Airam stopped and readied his staff. For a heartbeat, Zevran thought he would be frozen, when Airam shouted the warning. "Darkspawn! Get ready!"

"Oh _no_!" Leliana cried in pure despair. "Everybody, protect Zevran! Don't let him get dirty again!"

Zevran quietly thanked to his _allenatore_. Taking care of one's look was truly a good habit.


	30. The Gift of Virtue

Thanks to my lovely beta Seika for her help and comments. :)

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><p><strong>The Gift of Virtue<strong>

To be awaken by a kiss from your beloved; what could be better than that? Zevran opened his eyes and smiled at the face above him.

"_Amore_."

"Happy birthday, Zev." Airam leaned to kiss him again. Zevran wanted to wrap his arms around him, but he quickly moved away.

"Wait. I'd like to… do something different today. It's a surprise; I promise it will make today unforgettable. Will you let me?"

"I'm all yours," he purred.

Airam smiled. "Excellent! Let's start then. I will cover your eyes now, just relax and enjoy, all right?"

He nodded, silently praising the Maker for this most welcome blessing. Airam put a scarf over his eyes, tying it just tight enough so it wouldn't slip off. But he didn't stop there. He tied his wrists together to the headboard of the bed.

"Mmmm… what a naughty boy you are today, _amore _… I like that."

"I bet you do."

There was something about his voice that was off; it sounded more amused than aroused. But soon he forgot all about it, as his _amore_ continued his ministrations, kissing and licking and touching everything he could reach. Soon he was moaning loudly and arching into Airam's touch. When it suddenly stopped, he whimpered in despair.

"You're enjoying yourself so far, I take it?" There was that strange, unfitting tone again. "And it will get much better from now on. Give me just a second."

The bed creaked softly as Airam got off; then he heard the bolts on Airam's chest click.

"There should still be enough oil in the drawer, if that's-"

Airam tutted at him. "Underestimating me, are you? Maybe I should punish you… leave you here, like this, for the rest of the day…"

"Underestimate you? Never! How could I, when you had the best teacher in Thedas?"

"True." The bed creaked again. Airam's finger trailed across his chest, and circled around his right nipple. "Are you ready for your birthday surprise, then?"

"It would be painful if I got any readier."

"Lift your hips, then."

He obeyed immediately. Cold metal touched his skin, and then leather. "What are you planning, you devious little mage?"

"Hush now. And don't move. It will be done in a minute… so how is this done? Ah, I get it. And then this strap goes there…"

By the time he realized what was going on it was too late. A lock clicked in place, followed by Airam's triumphant chuckle.

"All done!"

"A chastity belt? If this is supposed to be funny, _amore_, it is not."

"Oh, it is funny for me. It's not supposed to be funny for you," Airam snapped, as he uncovered his eyes. "_You_ had your fun yesterday, flirting with that disgusting merchant."

"It was just to kill the time, while I was waiting for you to finish shopping!"

"I told you already." Airam sat on the bed and untied Zevran's hands. "You're _mine_. But it seems mere words can't get through that thick skull of yours. So I had to take more drastic measures."

"Ah, you cruel man." Zevran sat up and grinned provocatively at his crazy mage. "So you decided to keep me as a captive? Chained to you... always at your mercy? You know... I think I will like that."

"I told you so." Airam smiled. "You will have the whole day to enjoy it. If you are a good boy all day, you'll get your _real_ birthday surprise this evening."

Zevran chucked and pulled him into at tight hug. "And if I'm naughty?" he purred into his ear. That always worked… except now. Airam pushed away, smiling.

"I would get really depressed… and you know, strange things happen when mages are depressed. They sometimes lose control over their magic, with terrible consequences. Some keys can become permanently frozen, for example." He twirled the key around his finger and laughed.

Of course, Zevran knew that Airam wouldn't really do that. That was just a joke, to make the game more interesting. On the other hand... better be sure, yes? No need to make it more _unforgettable_ than it already was...


	31. Pancakes

Written for a 10 minutes challenge.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta Seika for her help. :)

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><p><strong>Pancakes<strong>

Zevran woke up to the sound of rain hammering on the tent. He peeked outside and, when he saw the big pool of mud that used to be their camp, quickly returned to his bedroll. If the others want to walk in this downpour, they were free to go. Without him. Ferelden was the dreariest, muddiest country he had ever seen. How he wished he was back in his Antiva! He expected Airam or Alistair would come to drag him out, and wrapped the blanket tighter around him.

But nobody came. Good, they had finally gotten some sense.

An hour later, the sound of rain had finally ended. But another sound appeared, of his stomach rumbling with hunger. Reluctantly, he untangled himself from the bedroll and put on his leathers. With his flashiest smile, he got out of the tent.

"Oh, you're alive. I started to hope you snored yourself to death," Alistair said, who apparently still hadn't gotten over the assassination attempt. It was already ten days ago! Couldn't the man just leave the past in the past?

"My dear Chantry boy," he started, but then stopped, sniffing the air. "What is that?" It smelled just like... pancakes.

"What? I don't smell, I just washed myself!"

"Then better do it again, and this time, try using the soap," he said distractedly, looking around camp. Pancakes!

He took a deep breath and went to the camp fire, where Wynne and Leliana were preparing the breakfast. The younger Warden was sneaking around them, trying to steal one for them.

"Pancakes," he said almost piously, when Zevran joined him. "Isn't Wynne the best ever?"

Perhaps this new life wouldn't be so bad, after all.


	32. The Bill

Written for the 10 minutes challenge. It is set during Awakening; if you read other stories from Ice and Leather, you know that Zev will later find out that Xavier was not dead after all. **  
><strong>

Thanks to Seika for beta reading this. :)

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><p><strong>The Bill<strong>

He had only been gone for one year and already he was a stranger here. Everything seemed so... dirty. False. Tainted with a curse wore than darkspawn. All the people around him had the same forced smile plastered on their faces, the same polite manners. The same darkness in their hearts. How many of them were Crows? How many of them hired the Crows to get rid of someone that had become a liability? How many of them were relatives or friends of the victims, living their lives in hate? Saving every coin they could, so that one day they could also hire the Crows and have their revenge? Everyone in Antiva could be sorted into at least one group.

The waiter brought him another drink with a tiny bit of ice in it. Naturally, it was not fresh; it had been kept in an ice house for months. He grinned inwardly. A year ago he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Or care. _What are you doing now, amore mio? Wait for me. I'll be home soon._

He glanced at the paper again. Five more to go. What a pity Xavier was dead already. He would have liked to kill him personally. Oh well. One couldn't have everything. And the sooner he finished it, the sooner he could go back where he really belonged, at side of his crazy ice mage. There was no reason to stay in Antiva. It was not a home any more. It never really was.

Time to pay up.


	33. Of Templars and Frogs

To provoke a mage is rash. To provoke a Warden Commanders is reckless. To provoke these three is insane.

Diana Amell is from _The Laughing Wall_ by Reyavie.

Josslyn Amell is from the _With Noble Intent_ by Shakespira.

Airam Surana is my crazy kid from Failed to Fail.

Thanks to Reyavie and Shakespira for letting me and Air spend some fun time with their wonderful ladies. :D And big thanks to my beta Seika for her help. :D

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><p><strong>Of Templars and Frogs<strong>

It was an exquisite piece of art; Zevran had never seen anything like it before. It was made of semi-transparent glass, flawless and smooth. Glass things and ornaments were popular among Antivan nobles and he liked to think that he knew all of the most famous glass-making schools... but he had never seen anything like this before. The resemblance was striking – he wouldn't be surprised if it jumped out of the window and hopped to a pod. The strangest thing, however, was the expression. He had never seen a frog look so desperate and scared. Not that he had seen many frogs, of course.

There was a long screech as the door opened, and Airam walked in, arms full of scrolls, maps and books.

"There should be a spell that would open a door automatically," he mumbled. "Remind me to mention it to Daria. Maybe she'll invent it."

"I have no doubts of that," Zevran agreed, hurrying to unburden his amore. "It's crazy enough for her to like it, no?"

"It's not crazy, it's practical," protested Airam. "She's the only one who invents useful spells that make life more comfortable."

Zevran didn't see anything useful in spells that changed hair colour, summoned little perfumed wisps to make air smell better, or opened the door, but he didn't want to argue. Instead, he picked up the paperweight again.

"I've been wondering, Air, where did you get this? I don't recognize the author at all."

"Oh, that's aTemplar."

Zevran frowned and looked at the paperweight. A Templar? "It looks more like a frog to me."

"It does now, doesn't it?" Airam snickered.

"You mean–but how–when–and _why_ I don't know anything about it? Talk," he commanded, sitting on Airam's desk.

"Well, you returned from Crow hunting only last night. And we didn't spend much time talking," Airam pointed out with a smile. "I got it two weeks ago. You remember I mentioned I had to go to the Council? The meeting of all the Warden Commanders?"

"The one held only once every ten years. I remember that, yes. But why would a Templar be there? And how did he become a glass frog?"

"It didn't happen during the Council, of course. Ha! I'd like to see a Templar, or any other fool who tried to disrupt that meeting. We Wardens are ridiculously awesome, you know. The Amells, for example."

"A Warden family? Is that even possible?"

Airam shrugged. "I'm not sure if they're relatives. Maybe distant cousins, a few times removed? They don't look like family. Diana looks more royal than Anora ever could, with blond hair and beautiful green eyes. Josslyn is also very pretty, with auburn hair and brown eyes."

"Oh? Should I be jealous?" he teased.

"No need to, both are married–and yes, it matters, for _me_. Though I think you'd look great with auburn hair, you know. I may ask Daria-"

"I'd do anything for you, amore, but I won't do that," he said firmly. He didn't think Airam was serious but better to destroy that idea before it developed. "You wanted to tell me about Templars and frogs."

"Right. Well, the meeting was as exciting as you could expect–imagine a whole day in a Chantry in Redcliffe, listening to the Revered Mother's preaching, and you'll get an idea. The meeting lasted three days, but I excused myself after the first. For once, it was useful being an Arl. Joss and Diana left too. We were travelling together for a few days."

"Let me guess. You turned into a glass frog every Templar you met."

"Ah, how your words wound me." Airam clasped his hands over his heart. "When did I ever turn a person into _glass_?"

"You mean it's ice? But why didn't it melt down?"

"Stop interrupting me with offensive accusations–glass, tch!–and you'll know. It was at the end of the third or fourth day, I think. We reached a village with a very nice inn. They make wonderful roe deer stew, I have to take you there one day. We didn't want to be around normal guests, they were clearly afraid of mages, so we had dinner in the girls' room. We had a great time, talking about magic and adventures during the Blight.

"Joss was just retelling a story where she turned a very annoying dwarf into a frog–and it still tried to attack her! But she ducked, and the poor frog sailed over her right into the lava pit.

"And then, _bang_! The door to the room flew off the hinges, and a group of ten Templars stormed into the room. The worst type, the 'Must-Kill-Evil-Mages' ones. Swords drawn and pointing to our chests –cause we jumped up, of course– and their leader said, in a grim and icy voice:

'Set the Divine free, mage, or face consequences.'

"Just like that. Face the consequences, pitiful fool." Airam chuckled.

Zevran wasn't sure if he believed the story. "The Divine? But... why would they ask that?"

"How should I know? Maybe they thought we were hiding her under our robes-" Airam chuckled, but then his face twisted in disgust. "Which would be revolting even if she was sixty years younger... Diana tried to be reasonable and polite. She told them:

'I am sorry, but as you can see, the Divine is not here. If you want to meet her, you must go elsewhere. Unfortunately, I can't tell you where.'

"But the leader told her they knew the truth and that she's a liar and a maleficar. And then he tried to smite her. He attacked a Commander of Grey. Right in front of us! We had to defend our friend _and _our honour."

"Naturally." Zevran looked at the paperweight again. Pitiful fool, indeed.

"Me and Joss cast spells in the same moment. It was awesome! There was a loud explosion and the room was covered in thick layer of fine ice dust, whirling around... the scared croaks the only sound we could hear. When the fog finally cleared, most of the Templars were turned into same frogs, and it couldn't be dispelled. Not that we tried too hard. They look much better this way, if you ask me. And they make perfect paperweights. Finally there's some use of them."

"And the rest?"

"Well, we each kept one and we gave the others to the local children. They-"

"I mean the Templars that remained humans."

"Oh, them. Diana recruited them."

"You mean conscripted."

"No, she didn't have to. They weren't so confident and arrogant any more, see. In fact, they almost begged her to let them Join. Though I don't think they'll be good Wardens. They shivered in fear every time they looked at one of the frogs. Tch. What will they do when they meet darskpawn? But she said she needed them to complete her collection."

"Indeed. Such cowards, yes?" Zevran didn't really blame them. Anyone normal would react the same way. "Why would she collect Templars?"

"She actually married one. Ugh." Airam's face twisted in disgust again. "I guess she's collecting them so he wouldn't feel lonely, or something."

Zevran suddenly had a suspicion he understood Diana's words about Divine and knew where she was. He never thought he'd feel sorry for the poor old lady.

"Maybe I should conscript a few Crows?" suggested Air innocently. "Then you wouldn't have to go hunting them every time you start missing them."

"You already tried that. If you conscript any more, you'll have to change the name into the Crowdens of Ferelden. Turning them into these nice ice frogs would be much better idea. It's a pity you don't know the spell, no?"

"Oh, that's not a problem," Airam assured him. "I invited them to visit us. They're coming next Friday, together with their husbands, and they'll stay for the whole summer. There will be plenty of time to learn that spell, and to examine the solidifying effect on my ice spell. Isn't that great?"

"Awesome," he agreed, his mouth suddenly dry.

_I should warn Alistair to start evacuating Templars._


	34. Blizzard

Thanks to lovely beta Seika for her help. You're awesome, lady. :)

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><p><strong>Blizzard<strong>

The dining hall was buzzing with the voices of two dozen Templars, all talking excitedly about the one and only topic that everyone else in Ferelden was gossiping about.

"I heard he was a genius child, better than the First Enchanter from the moment he entered the Tower."

"Nonsense. He's just a knife-ear. I bet he's a cheat – most of the work was done by the others, but he got all the praise for himself."

"But he wouldn't be recruited if he wasn't strong."

"And I heard he was Irving's pet and only got recruited because of that. There were many other, more skilled and experienced mages, but he insisted that it must be the kid."

"I heard they were lovers."

"I heard he was lovers with Greagoir, and that was why he was so angry when the elf got away."

"Who was Greagoir's lover? Irving?"

"No, you fool. Greagoir and the Hero."

"Pffft. Greagoir and a lover? I bet the old guy's balls were blue so long they fell off decades ago…"

Delbert almost chuckled, but masked it by a cough. After all, he was Greagoir's second. It wouldn't do, to laugh at the Commander in front of these young fools. When they turned, he gave them a stern and reproving look, and they had enough decency to look embarrassed, for a moment. For a very _short_ moment.

"Knight Captain! You were already in the Tower when the Hero came as an apprentice, weren't you? You knew him for years. Can you please tell us a bit about him?" asked Ser Willard, the youngest and the most foolish of them all… much like Delbert himself, when he was his age.

Delbert looked around. They were all so young, mere kids, assigned here after the Blight. He, Greagoir, Raymond and Auden were the only ones left from the old gang that was here before. Some were killed by Uldred… some joined the army during the Blight… some went crazy like Cullen. And he knew the other three would never tell the young ones anything. No need to fill their heads with useless gossip, that was Greagoir's policy. Delbert didn't agree, but couldn't afford to go against the Commander. But he wasn't here now, was he?

"I assure you, Airam Surana is not a cheat. And if I ever hear anyone call him or any other elf here a knife-ear, you may end with knife-ears yourself. Or no ears at all." He tried to look stern and threatening, but nobody cared.

"Yes, yes, we're sorry. But what was he like?" Willard asked impatiently. All other Templars in the dining room moved closer to listen. Delbert smirked. It wasn't so bad, to be in a centre of attention.

"What he was like? Very talented, yes. The most brilliant ever, no. That would be young McLam… the King's Chancellor, you know. But Surana… was the strangest one. He was eight when he arrived. I never had my post at the gate, you know, so I wasn't there, but Usher was my friend. He told me that the poor kid was unconscious when they brought him in, and all purple, like his hair. That's just what he said, you know, he said, 'I swear by the Maker, Delbert, I've never seen no one so full of bruises, he was purple from head to toe.'

"Those five who brought him were real brutes. If I could lay my hands on them… and let me warn you, lads. If I ever find out any of you hurt a child, I'll kill you. And I mean it. I'll take you to the roof and push you down.

"So you can imagine that little Airam didn't like us Templars much… he was scared shitless whenever he saw one of us. He'd look at us with those big purple eyes–you've never seen eyes like those, trust me–as if he expected us to bounce at him and eat him alive. During the first few weeks, he'd literally wet himself.

"Some of the guys thought it was funny, and they'd do little mean things, you know, like waiting behind the corner and then scare him. Until one day he got so scared of some Templar–and he wasn't even doing anything, he was one of the best guys I've met–but the kid got scared and hid in some closet and spent there the whole day, crying his eyes out, poor little darling. Greagoir and Irving got mad when they found out and that was the end of it.

"I was one of the very few he liked… as much as he could like a Templar, you know. That's because I was on his first lesson with the Bedbug… what was his real name… can't remember now. He died in the Denerim battle, and, well, I won't shed tears for him. That guy was one of the worst sleaze balls I've ever seen, always leering on the pretty girls. Mostly elven mages, but there were cases he had stupid remarks to some of our Templar girls…"

oOo

"And the Knight Commander tolerated it? Why didn't he had him turned into a Tranquil?"

Delbert frowned at him. "You'd everyone turn into a Tranquil, wouldn't you? Youngs these days, I'd never… Not that the Bedbug wouldn't deserve it… I think he must have had some noble behind him…" He shook his head. The young fools shut up again, while he focused back on that spectacular morning at the beginning of Cloudreach.

oOo

"So, our young Hero was assigned to the Elites, just one month after he arrived. He in fact missed his first lesson with Bedbug–that was the day he was hiding in that closet, I remember now. But that old jerk was always so full of himself, he took it personally. The other teachers all said that the kid was very clever, if a bit too shy and scared, but the more they praised him, the angrier he was. Greagoir called me that morning and asked me to go to that lesson specifically because of him, you know, because he also knew the Bedbug was an ass and cause some problem. He a clever guy, our Commander and don't let me hear you talk about him like you did before again. Understand?

"I went there before the lesson, and joked with few of the older students–Bedbug always insisted on mixed classes, putting the little ones together with older kids–so I joke to them, you know, so they wouldn't be so scared.

"Little Airam came with the McLam kid–yes, the Chancellor one–hiding behind him, I think if he could, he'd crawl under McLam's robe, and he wanted to sit next to him, in the back. Now, McLam was a great lad, and other kids liked him too, so they were really nice and made space for his little friend, too… If Bedbug had any sense in that fat, swollen head of his, there wouldn't be any problem at all.

"But nooo, he had to be a pompous ass as always. I knew there would be trouble the moment he entered the classroom and looked at those kids down that fat, pimply nose of his, as if they were a bunch of cockroaches in his soup. I bet he was jealous. They were the Elites, those kids, the most talented in the Tower, and I'll eat my helm if they weren't ten times brighter than he was. And when he saw Airam–and you couldn't miss that kid, you know, with that purple hair of his and white skin, even a mole would recognize him from a mile–he immediately puffed up like an ugly toad and ordered him to sit in the front desk.

"At first all was good, because he talked to big ones, and then to everyone else, making them perform, cast spells–you know, the fancy ones, not the big destructive ice balls, of course. I think he wanted to embarrass little Airam, you know, to make him feel like he didn't really belong there, but the kid was unimpressed. His parents were apostates, you know. Those brutes that brought him in were supposed to capture them but they fought back and died. I always wondered how they could do that, I mean Suranas were supposed to be dangerous apostates, running wild for years, and these fives didn't look very bright… there must be something behind it, but I never managed to find out what. And I probably never will.

"So then, in the end, he turned to the little kid and tried to ridicule him in front of the class, thought he was very funny, you know, but nobody laughed. We all just glared at him, me and the kids both. Little Airam was so scared he shook like a leaf, but he tried to answer all the questions politely; but no matter what he said, Bedbug always twisted it to make the kid look stupid.

" 'I don't know what the First Enchanter was thinking, to put you into Elites so soon,' he said. 'I don't even ask if you know any spells, I don't expect a little savage that lived in a forest like a beast would know anything useful… but did you at least learn to summon energy, during the last month?'

"You should have seen how happy little Airam was! So sure he finally had an answer that would please Bedbug.

'No, ser. But my Dad taught me, ages ago, to summon it and to limit it, so I don't hurt the others,' he said.

"But of course, I immediately knew that was the worst answer he could do. Kids in the Tower don't learn–don't _need_ to learn–to limit their power for quite some time, usually not before they start their individual studies with their mentors. That's why the work with little ones is always fun, without any danger, right? Well, all right, the Elites are always a special case, but even they don't usually need it for a first year or two.

"Naturally, the Bedbug thought that the poor kid was lying. He forced him to stand in front of the class and to summon all his energy, without any limits or restrictions. I protested against that, said that the kid shouldn't be tested around other kids, in case something happened. But the Bedbug insisted, laughed that such a little beast can't hurt anyone, that he takes the responsibility.

"When I saw he wouldn't give up on the idea, I went to the kid, who was really crying at that time, you know, he was afraid that he'd hurt someone and that then I would kill him. Poor little darling. I can say you know, even during all those years later, when he didn't have many friends and the others were forever teasing him because of his looks and his nightmares, he never hurt anyone. Well, all right, he did freeze a few fools, but they had it coming, you know, he never provoked any fight himself. And at that lesson, he was so tiny and vulnerable…

"So I wiped his tears and told him that I wouldn't kill him no matter what happened, and that I wouldn't let anyone else to hurt him, either, and that the Bedbug would take all responsibility, because he was a teacher–so if anything bad happened, I said, if anyone got hurt, it would be Bedbug's fault, not his, and it would be Bedbug who'd be punished. You may imagine that the old jerk wasn't happy with that. He was huffing behind my back, it was most annoying, I can tell you, I wanted to turn around and give him a right hook–you might not know it but I was sorta known for my right hook. Of course, I couldn't do that. You must never be impolite to enchanters and teachers in front of the kids. It would ruin the authority and soon the whole Tower would be in chaos… No matter how much they piss you off, always remain calm and polite. Remember that. So as I said, I tried to calm him down, though he wouldn't let me hug him.

"And then he started to summon the energy… those of you who are near the full mages when they're casting a strong spell know how it feels. The air tingles with power, and you can almost _see_ the Veil cracking, and the ominous presence behind it, waiting to get out; of course, the mages know what they're doing… well, in most cases. But a full mage won't tear the Veil accidentally, remember that. If they do, it's always with some intent–and never a good one, believe me.

"Of course, Airam was just a little apprentice. He had no evil intent, he just did as he was ordered–summoned the energy without any limitations… and by the Maker, what a show that was. All the hairs on my body stood up, papers and quills were floating, and it still wasn't done. Bedbug was leaning on the wall, perhaps he was afraid, the round as he was, that he'd start floating as well. Up in the air and out of the window… what a pity he didn't.

"But Airam was panicking, he wasn't sure what to do and that meatball was completely helpless. If it wasn't for the young McLam, I don't know what would happened. He shouted on Airam to 'release it as a spell'.

" 'Don't worry, you won't hurt us! Think of your–think of Jowan, all right? Think of Jowan and cast a spell! Now!'

"The kid nodded and then became very quiet, very focused, you know, just like one of the full mages when they want to cast something big. I was half wondering if I shouldn't run to call for reinforcements, but I admit–I didn't want to miss it. I wanted to know what he'd do.

"A few seconds later, it started to snow. Slowly at first–nice big and fat snowflakes, and the Bedbug became braver again, sneering that was all that could be expected from a little savage… but believe me, he stopped soon enough, as it quickly turned into a blizzard, one you'd expect in Wintermarch somewhere in the Frostback Mountains, and you wouldn't want to be outside while it was going on.

"The wind was so strong and snow was so thick that for a good while I couldn't see anything. I could hear kids screaming, but I couldn't move at all. I heard people outside the classroom shouting and running and trying to open the door, but they couldn't.

Then it suddenly stopped. All was quiet… and white. From the blackboard, desks and chairs, quills and ink bottles, paper sheets, down to the smallest button on the robes of kids, everything was coated in ice. The door couldn't be open because of huge snowdrift in front of them. Even my armour was sparkling in the sunlight, and my boots were frozen to the ground. I was one huge snowman, I'm telling you. But I wasn't hurt. No one was. We were not really frozen, you know, only our clothes. Well, except for the Bedbug, but that's hardly surprising, right?

"Except for a of the few that knew the kid already–they cast some kind of shield, so they were not affected. Young McLam was one of them, his girlfriend, and few of his friends, and it was them who unfroze us… most of us, at least. They didn't have enough energy for everyone… the Bedbug, for example. But I think he didn't mind so much, and that he was glad to be left till the end, until the things calmed down a bit.

"Irving was very mad at him, you know, and after all kids were taken to the infirmary, he yelled at him quite a bit. And after he was done, Greagoir started. And I can tell you that he's a great guy, but you don't want to make him angry. He's a true master in yelling, our Commander-"

oOo

"You don't say," said a voice behind him–a voice just as cold as any blizzard. An angry voice... though there was a tiny little bit of amusement, perhaps.

Delbert got up and turned. He didn't try to find a stupid excuse or to apologize; that never worked with Greagoir. "Did you need anything Knight Commander?"

Greagoir brows shoot up. "A lunch would be nice, thank you."

"A lunch? ... Oh."

"_Oh_ indeed."

The lunchbreak for the first shift was long over, and there was a long cue of Templars from the second behind Greagoir, trying to peek in to see what was going on, looking wistful and envious.

"I apologize, Knight Commander, it was my fault," said Willfred.

Greagoir waved his hand. "I don't want to hear it. You've chatted here long enough. Dismissed. You come with me, Knight Captain. I'll have lunch in my office and as I'd like if the men finished their lunch before the dinner starts, you'll have to join me."

"Not fair," grumbled one of the new arrivals quietly, "we want to hear about the Hero, too."

"Rejected," barked Greagoir. "And since you have so much free time, you can spend the afternoon cleaning the Templar halls. Including windows. No help from mages."

"Aren't you too strict on them?" Delbert asked, as they walked to the Greagoir's office.

"Quiet, you. By all justice, it should be _you,_ cleaning those windows. The only reason you're not is that you reminded me of that wonderful day... to see the Bedbug frozen... how I wished I could do that, half of the time I had to talk to him. I almost liked that awful brat, because of it. It was the main reason I forgave him all the problems he caused and didn't turn him into a Tranquil, as he deserved."

"Say what you want, I know you liked him... as much as you're capable of something like that."

"I did not."

"Yes you did."

"Have you noticed how dirty are windows in this corridor?"

"All right, I get it. I'll shut up now."

"So you _are_ wiser than you look..."


	35. Stripper Conjured

After one and half year… the crazy kid and his silly assassin are back. :D

Thanks to ShebasDawn - my dear friend, beta and co-author of the new story A Crow, a Rat and a Sparrow for her help, encouragement and poking. :D

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><p>Airam couldn't believe his eyes. Zevran, in a library, reading a book? And so absorbed in it that he didn't even look up when someone entered? What was the world coming to? Grinning, he sneaked up behind the assassin. He had to know what this was about. As he got closer, he realized Zevran wasn't just reading - he was studying something, mumbling softly to himself.<p>

"Ah, I get it. I have to have a clear picture in my mind first. Yes, but which one?"

It sounded as if Zev wanted to conjure something... how awesomely ridiculous. "Clear picture of what, love?" he asked, snatching the book from the bed. 'Conjure Stripper,' said the title on the top left page. He frowned at the instructions - this was one of the advanced spells; even he would need some time to learn it. There was no chance Zev would ever manage that.

He looked up at Zev, who seemed suspiciously embarrassed. "You want to learn magic to conjure a stripper?"

"Ahaha... well... it was... when I found that book, I... it was just a silly idea..."

Airam stared at his lover. What was going on? He had never seen Zevran like this. He glanced at the book again and made up his mind. "If that is what you wish, then you will have it. I'll learn this spell and conjure the stripper for you."

"You – what? But... no! No, I cannot ask that from you, amore."

"Nonsense, Zev. Just give me a few hours, all right?" Ignoring Zevran's feeble attempts at protest, he kissed him on the cheek, took the book, and left the room. Now, there was only one problem with this. He thought about it for a while. If that silly Anders was still here, he could ask him, but now... Ah. Yes. That will do.

He hurried to the Senechal's office. Varel was there, as he had hoped, going through letters filled with the endless rantings and complaints of nobles. What a pity there wasn't a spell to cure that.

"I need a consultation, Varel. Do you perhaps know what _a stripper_ is?"

oOo

Ten minutes later, a very confused Airam was sitting on his bed, looking around. He would have never believed Zev was interested in something like that. A stripper? Really? But what for? Airam sighed. He had no idea what was behind this, but if Zev wanted a stripper, then by the Maker, he would conjure him one!

oOo

Zevran wanted to kick himself. Why in the Void wasn't he more careful? How was it possible he hadn't heard him coming? He was getting too soft. Airam acted as if he didn't mind, but he knew his crazy kid too well. Of course he would mind, and of course he would be hurt. Brasca! This was what happened when people read. He came to the library looking for Air and found that book, full of those silly spells. It seemed like fun, so he imagined what it would be like if he could really cast them.

Naturally, Air had to come in just as he was studying the Conjure Stripper spell. Well alright, he was perhaps reading it for a longer time and more carefully than, say, Ball of Deodorant, but that was perfectly natural, no?

He moaned in despair. Air was probably mad at him. And plotting some punishment. Not that he didn't deserve it. He would gladly do anything to make Airam forgive him.

oOo

"Zevran! There you are!" Airam hurried across the training yard with a wide, happy smile. Zevran's mouth went dry. Here it was. The punishment.

"I conjured the stripper for you," said Airam, ignoring the surprised chuckles and smirks from the recruits. "You can start any time you want. I assume you want to do our bedroom first, right?"

Everybody in the yard, including Ser Pounce, gawped at Airam. And then they all turned to him with the same accusing stare. _What have you done with our cute Commander?_ - it seemed to say. Too shocked to reply, he followed Airam, his anxiety and anticipation growing by every step. He opened the door-

It was empty.

"As I said, you can start whenever you want, Zev. But can you please tell me why you were so secretive about it?"

Zevran stared at him, completely nonplussed.

"If you didn't like how things are now, all you had to do was say so. I would have arranged it to your liking. And if you wanted to do it yourself, that wouldn't be a problem, either. You know I'll always support you in all your interests... no matter how weird they are."

"Do not say that," he said, almost crying. "I swear it is not like that. I am perfectly happy with how things are."

Airam frowned. "You are? But, then why do you need that stripper?"

Zevran followed Air's gaze to something on the chest of drawers. A... pot. He walked up to it and lifted the lid. Inside was some weird, semi-paste substance, with a rather unpleasant smell. "And this is...?"

"The stripper." Airam looked at him as if he were insane. "I really think we should simply buy new furniture, if you don't like what we have, but if redecorating furniture is what makes you happy – why are you laughing like that? Zevran!"

Well, yes. Redecorating the bedroom - especially the bed – was a very pleasant activity. It took them the whole afternoon.


	36. Zevran the Kid

After almost two and half years in writing... chibi Zevran is finally here! :D The broken Italian used in this story is because Zev is a little kid and Air had too few lessons. It has nothing to do with my single semester of Italian. . But if you notice any blatant error, especially in Zevran and Erwin's lines, please let me know. Thanks! :) You will find the English translation at the bottom.

Big hug to my dear friend and wonderful beta ShebasDawn, for all her encouragment and help - and changing my mess into English. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Zevran the Kid<strong>

An unfortunate side effect of three spells hitting him all at once. That was all Wynne could say about this catastrophe. As far as she knew, there was no counter spell or potion to fix it. Their best hope was that it would wear off.

Damn. Airam was sure Erwin, or perhaps Grandpa, knew what to do. But they were days of travelling away. All he could do was to ask Morrigan - force her, really, under the threat of having to mend all of Alistair's socks - to fly to Denerim and seek their advice. And hope that when she returned, it wouldn't be too late.

He scowled, cursing inwardly. This was all his fault! If he had noticed the three fools, if he had frozen them in time, this would never have happened.

"Air, could you please stop thundering around," Leliana said, exasperated.

"But-"

"Or do you want him to wet himself in fear?"

Airam immediately stopped and looked at the miserable little creature curled in the armchair: half drowned in a sweater much too big for him, big golden eyes full of terror and tears. But he didn't cry, or whine, or protest - he just sat there, resignedly waiting to see what would they do to him.

Great. Not only had he managed to get him cursed, now he scared him shitless, as well. How do you say 'Please don't be afraid' in Antivan? He had started learning Antivan a few months ago, but there hadn't been much time for lessons, with all the other things he had to study, and he hadn't made much progress. In fact, right now he could remember only one word. Ah, but it fit well: _Brasca_. Airam ran his hand through his hair. Well, Fereldan would have to do.

With what he hoped was a friendly and reassuring smile, he crouched next to the boy. "Zevvie, there's no need to be afraid. We won't eat you," he said with a little laugh and looked at Leliana.

She translated it to Antivan, and Zevran in return gave him the most unconvincing nod and smile; it was obvious he did it just because he thought it was expected of him.

Sighing, he tried again. "I'm Airam. Your friend."

Leliana snickered.

"You're not helping," he accused her. "Better ask him what he wants for dinner."

For a moment it looked hopeful - Zevran's eyes lit up when he heard the question, but then his expression became closed and wary.

"_Niente, Maestro. Grazie, ma non ho fame._"

"He says-"

"I know what _niente_ means." Maker, how he hated the Crows! I swear, after the Blight I'll go to Antiva and kill them all. Hopefully it wouldn't take long now. He turned to Zevran again. "No, not Master. _Io… no Maestro._ I'm.. _Io… un amico. Sí_?"

"_Un fidanzato_," Leliana corrected him with a smirk.

"_Egli è il vostro fidanzato?_" Zevran asked confused, looking from Leliana to Airam.

"What did you tell him?" Airam asked suspiciously, before she could reply.

"Why, I just wanted to clarify the kind of relationship-"

"Are you crazy? Leliana, he's seven! And he doesn't even remember me!"

"You're scaring him again."

Airam looked at the boy, now really shivering, and shook his head. "I think it's better if I leave," he said miserably. "I need to find a tailor anyway. You find out what he likes to eat. And don't tell him things inappropriate for his age."

oOo

Zevran sat on the bed, hugging his knees.

The day before yesterday he was slow during the training again, so the allenatore punished him and sent him to bed without dinner. But when he woke up, he wasn't in the flophouse anymore. He was sitting on a pile of clothes, in the middle of cold, white stuff, and there were a lot of weird people around and they were all upset and yelling, but not in Antivan. Because this wasn't Antiva at all. Did the allenatores sell him while he was asleep? But why? And how did they get him here so fast?

It must be magic. Three of these new people were mages. Maybe they magicked him from the Crows. Maybe the witch with her face painted in scary purple tones did it? She had crow feathers on her ugly dress, so maybe she was related to them. But why him? He only started trainings last month… Did they want to train him, too? Zevran bit his lip. When the Crows bought him, they immediately made it clear what they expected from him. But these people, they were just too weird.

One of them was even made of stone! And then there was a giant, and a scary witch, but she left to go somewhere soon after that, and three dwarves, one of them very stinky, and the very old and wrinkled lady, and a funny knight, and the pretty red-haired lady who could speak Antivan. And a huuuuuge dog.

But the weirdest was their boss. Zevran had never seen anyone like him: his skin was white as milk and he had funny violet hair and eyes. At first he was scary, because whenever he looked at Zevran, he got upset. Maybe he was disappointed… maybe he wanted someone else? Zevran always expected a blow, but it never came. Instead the man tried to talk in Antivan, and repeated that he was Zevran's amico and insisted that Zevran must call him by name. Which was Air and that was weird because that wasn't a name at all. But Master's order was Master's order; he didn't want to upset the weird man even more. What if he decided to sell Zevran to an even weirder place?

They did not sell him. They wrapped him in thick clothing that prickled his skin, and took him to an inn. Master Air then brought some men; they measured his body and arms and legs and feet. He had to stand still while they did it, but it didn't take long.

And they gave him food - a bowl of hot stew and bread and buns and a big cup of milk. And they even let him eat together with them. And then the old lady, Wynne, tucked him in the bed and sang something in a soothing voice until he fell asleep.

It was all too weird. There must be a catch. Maybe it was all a dream. If he closed his eyes, he would wake up in the flophouse again. Or maybe they wanted something from him. Maybe the old lady would now send clients to his room, like the Matron in Lupanare Grande did sometimes, before she sold him to the Crows.

Whatever it was, he better not fall asleep.

oOo

The tailor brought the clothes the next morning, as promised. But the boots were a problem. The leather needed to dry, and no extra money would make it dry faster. They were lucky the mayor had ordered boots for his youngest son which were more or less the same size. Of course, he didn't like the idea of selling them to the Wardens at all.

"What does he needs boots for, anyway? He's an elf," the mayor argued. "I've heard elves don't wear boots. Something with their religion - they're pagans who worship nature as their mother and don't wear any footwear so they can stay in touch with her."

"You don't say," Airam said dryly. "Someone should tell the Dalish. I'm sure they'd be grateful for this interesting bit of lore they somehow missed." He glanced at his feet, sporting exquisite boots made of dragon skin; one of the Haren's masterpieces, and that was saying something.

The mayor followed his glance. "It's what I heard," he said with a nervous little cough.

Airam was just about to assure the man that Zevran worshipped nature only in the form of fish chowder and red wine, when Leliana cut in. "We will of course pay for your trouble, or we can pay for the new pair - it will only take a few more days. I am sure you understand that the Warden Commander cannot spend a whole week here; we need to get to Denerim as soon as possible."

Clever girl - Airam felt that if he would have had to hear any more rambling about elves in touch with mother nature, there might have been a sudden heavy blizzard in this area.

oOo

Don't show weakness. Zevran stood silently, watching the little clouds that formed as he breathed. All his insides had turned into a quivering mass, but he somehow managed to smile. He must be strong now.

Air gave him a lot of new clothes: a shirt with no sleeves, a shirt with long sleeves, and a pricky shirt that was called a woolen sweater, and thick underpants and woolen socks and trousers and gloves and a woolen shawl and a woolen cap and a thick coat. If all the clothes he had ever had were piled together, there wouldn't be as many as this. And Air insisted he had to wear all of it at the same time! Silly - how could anyone move with that much clothes on? Of course, he didn't say that aloud. Air was his Master.

Then Air gave him shoes… tall and black, made of leather. They were call boots, Leliana told him, and they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. Air told him they were his and to put them on. And that scared him. It was too good. Nothing is for free. If you want anything, you need to be strong and fight for it and win. Only then can you claim it as your own. The allenatores repeated that every day.

And he was right. When he was all dressed up, with the shawl wrapped around his face so only his eyes were free, they told him to wait. It was difficult to breathe, and he felt fat drops of sweat rolling down his back, but he didn't dare to remove the shawl. Finally, Air and Leliana returnd - with a boy, almost twice as big as him, and with several carrots sticking out of his pocket. He was Jamie, the innkeeper's son, and he would take Zevran and Rask out to play, Leliana explained.

Rask barked happily and licked Zevran's face. But Zevran wasn't fooled. This had to be it: the test. Outside Jamie would challenge him and he would have to fight for it all. He had seen duels like that in the Crows. But they were always older apprentices, who trained for years; he had only started his training a few weeks ago. How could he possibly defeat this big boy?

When they went outside and Jamie told him to wait, he was certain of it: the boy had gone to take a weapon. Finally, he heard Jamie coming back from the shed. He shut his eyes tight, determined to do his best. It was his only chance to survive.

Jamie returned, not with a weapon, but with some weird wooden carriage. It had no wheels, but it glided on the snow easily. Air said something in an excited voice, then gestured for them both to sit down - Zevran in the front and Jamie behind him - and harnessed Rask to it as if he were a horse. The dog barked again and started running, pulling the carriage behind him.

Zevran turned back, surprised. Wasn't Air coming too? How would he know who won? Maybe this wasn't a duel after all. But what was it all about, then? They whooshed through the streets of the village, and everyone who saw them stopped and laughed. Zevran relaxed; whatever was happening, he was sure he wouldn't die. The ride immediately became far more enjoyable.

It didn't last long, though, before they reached the wide empty space behind the houses. There were many other kids there - maybe it was a training session? But he couldn't see any allenatores. And all the kids were laughing, and shouting and running all over the place; there was no sense or order to it.

By the time they had parked next to a dozen similar carriages and untied Rask, all the kids had come running. They had a lot of questions; he didn't understand what they asked and what Jamie replied, but he was sure it concerned him. Why else would girls squeak 'kyoot' and pinch his cheeks? But, nobody tried to take anything from him, or to attack him.

"_Dobbiamo combattere?_" he asked Jamie uncertainly.

The boy laughed as if he'd said something silly. "Combat! Yes! Let's have a snowball fight!" He tooks some snow and made a ball of it. "This. Snowball. Snow-ball. Throw," he explained in a slow voice, pointing at one of the boys. He threw the ball; the boy tried to jump aside, but the ball hit his arm. "Understand?"

"_Sí_… yes," Zevran lied. What was the point of this? Was it supposed to be some kind of weird archery training? But, he had no time to wonder about it. The kids scattered all across the field again, and the next moment the balls started flying. He had to focus now. After all, he wanted to win.

oOo

"What is on your mind, Airam? You seem worried."

"Hm?" He glanced at Wynne, who sat on the bench next to him. "No, I… I've just been watching Zev. How happy he is…" He turned to where Zevran and Jamie were describing all their games to Leliana. The little elf's eyes were shining, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement.

"Yes, it looks he didn't have much of a childhood. Until now."

Airam sighed. "Yes."

"Let me guess: you are thinking it would be better for him to stay like this. To live his life again, without the Crows."

Her tone was kind, almost pitying, yet he winced as if she had slapped him. "I want him back. I want my Zevran. But… I'm not sure if it's not selfish of me. Maybe I should leave it as it is. He could be innocent again; he could be whole. No painful memories, no regrets… Do I have the right to take that from him?"

"Not right, no. You have a duty to do all you can to change him back. He might look and act like a six year old-"

"Seven. The Crows bought him when he was seven. For three sovereigns, you know."

"That is beside the point now. The fact is that he is still twenty-five. Would you let him live a lie? Would you rob him of sixteen years of his life?"

Put like that, it didn't sound like such a good idea anymore. "Well, no, of course not, but-"

Wynne didn't let him finish, forcing her argument through. "And what if his memory returns one day, hm? Do you think he would appreciate it?"

"No," he admitted. Zevran would despise his pity. And if he ever turned back by himself and found that Airam didn't do it when he could - assuming they would find a way, of course - he would never forgive him. "No…"

"You have a good heart, Airam. Do not doubt yourself." Wynne reached her hand and tucked an unruly lock behind his ear, smiling. "Hopefully, he will remember what happened when he turns back. Then he will have a few happy childhood memories."

"That's true-"

"And the rest of us will have something to tease him about."

Airam gasped, then burst into laughter. "I think we have had a bad influence on you, Gran."

"Hmph. I was young as well, you know. And despite popular opinion among you brats, it was in this century."

oOo

Zevran woke up to Leliana's singing and playing on the lute. For a moment he just sat on the bed, enjoying the pleasant melody, but then hopped off. There were so many clothes to put on, he'd better hurry. It wouldn't do, to let them find him wasting time. Though maybe they wouldn't mind. They didn't ask him to do anything yesterday. Have fun, was all they told him to do. In the evening he and Air had read a picture book, to teach each other a few words - he in Fereldan and Air in Antivan - but even that had been fun. Air never boxed his ears when he made a mistake, he just laughed. He laughed a lot. Zevran liked that.

There was a knock on the door, just as he pulled on the prickly woolen sweater, and a moment later Leliana entered. "Good morning! You are already up and ready? That's a good lad. There's breakfast waiting for you in the hall. Then you can go say goodbye to Jamie and other kids, but be back before ten. We are leaving for Denerim today."

That made him sad, but he tried his best not to show it... and failed miserably.

"Aww, don't be like that," Leliana said. She crouched next to him and hugged him tight. "You'll enjoy the trip, and you'll find more friends in Denerim."

He nodded, and smiled and thanked her, and obediently went to eat the breakfast, but nothing could improve his mood. And when Jamie gave him a pocket knife, as a goodbye gift, he had to blink furiously to get the traitorous tears out of his eyes.

oOo

They hired three sledges from the village, but they were big and pulled not by mabaris, but by horses. Zevran was sitting with Air, Leliana and Wynne. Sometimes, Leliana would sing merry songs; the best one was the song about the sailors and sirens she sang in Antivan. She would also tell him funny stories that made him laugh out loud. When Leliana was quiet, Air would pull out the picture book and they would read together.

In the evenings they would go to the nearest village, and rent a room in the inn for the night. The young dwarf would teach him to play cards, showing him little cheats. Wynne was angry with him for that, but he'd reply that now he could say Zevran learned all his tricks from him. It made him very happy.

On the third day they had to camp outside. There was no village with a warm inn nearby. Sten and the stone lady scooped all the snow into one huge pile, tall as a hill. They put up tents on the cleared area and Wynne drew funny glittering shapes around them; Leliana said they were glyphs and that they would keep them warm. But more important was that Air let him slid down from the big pile of snow.

When all was done and the stew was simmering over the campfire, Farren and Dagna challenged Air and others to a snowball fight. Air's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Alright, then. All of you against me and Zev!"

At first Zevran thought that was a horrible idea - what chance would they have, against so many? He soon found out how wrong he was. The snow did what Air wanted. One flick of his wrist, and the snow near them formed into a neat row of snowballs, ready to be used. And when they threw them, the balls never missed their target.

The others were doing what they could - the stone lady threw balls the size of soup bowls, and Wynne's balls chased their targets all over the area - but an ice mage was an ice mage, as Leliana said, when they finally stopped, breathless and happy.

And yet, Air looked worried and a bit sad. He didn't eat the stew at all, just sat there frowning at his bowl. Wynne and Leliana tried to cheer him up, but it didn't work. Zevran couldn't stand it. He gathered all his courage and stood in front of Air.

"_Perché sei triste?_"

Airam blinked. "What?"

Leliana translated his question, and Air tried to smile. "It's okay, Zevvie…" It wasn't convincing at all. Air was a terrible liar.

"_Non essere triste,_" Zevran said. He hesitated for a moment, then reached his hand and stroke Airs face. "_Non essere triste, amico mio_."

Air gaped at him, then pulled him into a tight hug. "_Grazie_, Zevran. _Grazie, amico_."

Air was such confusing man, he thought as he returned the hug. He smiled and looked happy and yet Zevran had a feeling he was even sadder now.

oOo

Almost a week after the incident, they were finally in Denerim. The last few minutes as they slid through the muddy snow to Erwin's house were the worst - they reminded him of the last night in Ostagar while they waited for the horde and the doom it would bring. Airam looked at the small boy curled in his lap and stroked his hair. Look at him: so vulnerable, in his trust. Despite what Wynne said, he was still full of doubts. Should he hope Erwin had found the counter-spell - or that he hadn't?

The sledges stopped in front of Erwin's gate. A bunch of servants set to unharnessing the horses and taking their luggage almost before the drivers hopped down. One day he must ask Erwin how he always knew when they would be arriving.

They were taken to their usual rooms, - all except Zevran, who looked bewildered with all the luxury around him and determinedly stuck to Airam. The hot bath, comfortable clean clothes and a tray of delicious little cupcakes helped a bit, but he still clutched Airam's hand, when they left the room to join the others in the winter garden.

Erwin's winter garden was one of the wonders of Ferelden; Airam always suspected that his friend helped the gardener with his illusion magic. How else could it be explained, that while the world outside turned fifty shades of gray, here the flowers bloomed, filling the air with a sweet scent, and the light danced on pearl chains of water falling from the fountain?

"_Magnifico_," Zevran breathed as they entered. Airam was sure that if they were alone, he would run right into the nearest fountain. But with everyone there, sitting in the cushioned rattan armchairs, watching his every move, he stepped behind Airam again.

"It's okay, Zev," he said, ruffling his hair. "That guy is Erwin. My friend, you know... uh... _mio amico_, I mean. And that one next to him, that's my Grandpa... um, wait... _nonna_?"

Zevran looked at him, then at Grandpa and laughed. "_Nonno_," he corrected him, eyes sparkling with joy.

"Whatever. You always call him Rashwash anyway." He steered them to the nearest free armchairs, ignoring the smirks and comments from his crazy ancestor. Thank the Maker Zevran couldn't understand them – and that he wasn't an assassin. Yet.

"So. Do you know how to change him back?" he asked the moment he sat down. No point wasting time chatting about politics and nobles. He wanted this over as soon as possible.

"Such impudence!" Grandpa pouted. "Who do you think you're talking to? You're sitting here with the most brilliant mage in Thedas-"

"Aw, thank you. Glad you finally admit it," Erwin cut in.

"-and my _talented apprentice_," Grandpa continued. "We had it ready days ago. We can start anytime you want."

"Good," Airam said before Erwin could start another pointless argument about who's the most vainglorious mage in the world. "Then let's do it now."

Erwin arched his brow at him. "Before dinner? I thought you'd be Warden-hungry. This will take some time, you know."

"We can enjoy it all together when he's back to normal."

"As you wish." Erwin got up and walked over to Zevran, stretching his arm. "_Vieni, Zevran. Dite addio ai vostri amici e mi segua_."

Zevran's eyes widened in horror. He hopped from the armchair and sprinted to Airam. "_No, Maestro! Si prega, non mi vendere a quell'uomo!_"

"What?" He caught Zevran before he could kneel in front of him, and pulled him to a hug. "Why is he crying?" he asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Erwin.

"Erwin told him to say his goodbye and follow him and now he thinks you want to sell him," Leliana explained.

"It was just a joke," Erwin muttered.

Airam glared at the man. "I swear, Erwin, sometimes you're brilliantly dumb." He wiped Zevran's tears away. "Io e te, amici… per sempre," he said softly, holding him tight. Only when the boy calmed down again, he looked at his friend again.

"Alright, then. Let's go."

Erwin just nodded and headed to his hidden lab below study. Grandpa, Wynne and Morrigan followed as well. The lab was changed for this occasion. Instead of long rows of shelves with alchemy ingredients and colourful bottles with potions, there was now... a bed. Complete with a pillow and a blanket.

"I thought we might as well make it comfortable for him," Erwin explained with a satisfied smile.

The bed was standing in the middle of a tremendous glyph, the lines of which were formed of dozens of smaller ones. All were imbued with lyrium, but as they were not activated yet, they didn't glow.

"He should undress, the clothes will be too tight when he grows back. We have the normal-sized clothes ready."

Airam helped Zevran undress and tucked him under the blanket. He could feel the boy shivering; this had to be too confusing and scary. Hopefully it would be over soon. He kissed Zevran on the brow, and returned to Erwin, who handed him a sheet of paper with what seemed like a long poem.

"Chant. Listen." Erwin sang the beginning; it was complicated, but he had heard worse. "I hope your singing is better than it was five years ago."

"I thought you realized by now that we Suranas are multitalented. There's nothing we are not good at - brilliant, in fact." Grandpa said haughtily. Poor Grandpa. He was in for a horrible surprise.

Standing around the room, they started to sing. It echoed around the room, the words they sang and echoes of what they had sung a moment before, in an endless whirl. One by one, the little glyphs on the floor came to life, until the whole circle was lit, it's pale blue glow reflecting from the walls. Bright and calm like summer morning, then fast and strong, like a storm at sea, it flew until they were all fully aborbed in it. And the time stopped.

oOo

"Zev? Look at me. Look at me, love. Can you see me? Do you know who I am?"

Zevran squinted at the purple-white blur in fron of him. He blinked and the blur slowly turned into Airam's lovely face. "_Il mio amore_," he replied with a smile, as he sat up. The blankets slid off to the floor. There was an amused chuckle somewhere behind him and Airam's ears turned pink.

"Everyone, out!" Airam cut in. "And you put some clothes on, silly assassin. You showed off enough for today."

"Such cruelty," Zevran complained merrily, but decided to wait until he heard all voices and steps fade away. Once he was sure they were really alone, he got up, stretching his arms and legs like a cat after a long afternoon nap. He pulled on the shirt and trousers. "What happened to friends forever?"

"So you remember?" Airam asked softly.

"Yes." He wrapped his arms around Airam's waist. "All of it. You did so much to make me happy. Thank you." He gently pressed their lips together. "But I'm glad the things are back to normal. I like this shape better," he purred.

Airam let out a shaky laugh. "Me too," he admitted.

"Oh? Should I undress again?"

"You're aware they are all waiting right behind the door? Ready to start teasing you the moment you appear?"

"As long as they're behind the door. I have a whole week of kissing to catch up with," he said, chuckling at the deepening blush on Airam's face.

Yes, things were definitely back to normal again.

* * *

><p>Translation:<p>

_Niente, Maestro. Grazie, ma non ho fame_. - Nothing, Master. Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

_Io… no Maestro. I'm.. Io… un amico. Sí?_ - I… not Master. I… a friend. Yes?

_Un fidanzato_ - a boyfriend

_Egli è il vostro fidanzato?_ - He is your boyfriend?

_kyoot_ - phonetic transcription of cute, if you couldn't tell. :D

_Perché sei triste?_ - Why are you sad?

_Non essere triste_. - Don't be sad.

_amico mio _- my friend

_Grazie_ - thank you

_amore / il mio amore_ - love /my love (for males)

_magnifico_ - gorgeous

_nonna_ - Grandma

_nonno_ - Grandpa

_Vieni, Zevran. Dite addio ai vostri amici e mi segua_. - Come, Zevran. Say goodbye to your friends and follow me.

_No, Maestro! Si prega, non mi vendere a quell'uomo!_ - No, Master! I beg you, don't sell me to that man!

_Io e te, amici… per sempre._ - Me and you, friends… Forever.


End file.
